A Fire

The weekend came, and it made an entrance.

A handful of us decided to get dinner, maybe BBQ, after work. It was Friday. We were paid on Tuesday. It seemed like the thing to do.

After dropping our bags and meeting up on the street, we started making for one of our favorite places. We talked. We joked. Someone was saying something inconsequential when I heard Lauren gasp.

Directly across the street, in the garage of a building (all the buildings on our street are at least 10 stories high), there’s fire dripping from the ceiling. Fire and sparks.

It was coming down in a line. Later we would say it might have been running the line of a wire, but who knows. At the time it looks though someone has spilled a corrosive liquid and it’s dripping through the floor and into the garage below. Cars are getting a light shower of fire and ash.

“Oh my god,” someone says.

“That’s a fire!” Someone exclaims dumbly.

And I felt dumb too. Maybe we all did. The foot traffic flows steadily around 8 or so (right about now), and people are stopping on the street and staring. Some have their phones out. I hope to God that they were calling someone. 1-1-9 is the number for emergency services/dispatch here.

Looking back now I guess I should have been shaking the three Korean guys with phones (I don’t cell service here) next to me and getting them to do it. Looking back I should have been doing any number of things. There were people in the building. I could see them sitting at desks. All the light were on. It didn’t look as if any alarms were going off. There were no screams or sirens or bells.

That’s the weirdest thing, maybe. No one screamed. No one shouted. It was like every single one of us, all thirty some-odd people stopped on the street was just looking on with our mouths open thinking, “Is this really happening?”

I’m embarrassed by that now.

In hindsight I think that I should have been chucking rocks at windows to alert the people inside. No less than five of them were staring at computer screens. I should have been doing something.

Looking back on it now, it makes me wonder if that was of THOSE moments. Those trying, tempering moments that test you or, worse, just show you what color your blood is. I stood and watched with my gob open.

I’ll say in advance that no one was killed. Over 100 people went to the hospital, but no more than 15 were listed with injuries.

Knowing that, I’ll look back on this and think that it might have been one of those moments, or perhaps it was a rare dress rehearsal. I’m not exactly sure what it is I should have done, but I can tell you that standing there watching and doing nothing didn’t seem right. I can tell you that watching the flames crawl across the ceiling and grow until they were roaring out of the garage, and hoping to God that someone with a phone had called the fire dept. didn’t feel right.

Within 45 seconds the fire was large enough that everyone across the street was taking unconscious steps backwards. My face felt about like it does when I’m standing about a foot from a campfire. Near-seared.

And God did it grow fast.

I had some Korean guy by the arm and was pulling him back. Someone had my arm and was doing the same. The guy looked back at me, and I realized what I was doing and dropped his arm.

Andrew said something about there being explosions. Maria said something about the building being full of people (and it was).

We turned and walked quickly through the belly of the building we were under and made for the interior square of the block. More people were streaming past us going the other direction.

No one’s really talking, maybe under their breath, but nothing consequential is being said. I guess we were in shock.

We exit into the square (which is mostly serene) and walk on the way we were going, thinking I guess that if it blew we wanted to have a row of buildings in between us and the blast. That seems a little Hollywood now, having seen the fire, but what do I know about building sized fires?

Maria says she doesn’t want to see it, so she and I stay down the street and around the corner from the fire. I can see a clear reflection of it raging on though in the glass windows of a tall building on the next street over (that’s on the complete opposite side of the block the fire is on, mind you.) The flames are that tall.

High, orange flames waving like the arms of one of those dancing balloon men you see in front of car dealerships. For me to see the fire in the windows of the skyscraper means that the whole building had already gone up.

That might have taken two minutes from when I saw the flames dripping in the garage. It was probably less. What the hell? Flames 10-15 stories high and reaching up 15 feet more into the sky.

I could feel it. Around the corner and down the street I could feel the heat.

Still there are no screams. No sirens. I’m new to cities, and I’m new to fires, but you would think it would be louder, right?

We’re thinking, “Where are the firetrucks?” The entire building is in flames, a building sized fire, and the street is pretty much silent. It might not even be happening except that people are pooling in a wide semi-circle in the street, staring at the flames like teenagers at a bon-fire.

Maria’s talking about the people in the building. I’m not talking about much and just watching the flames in the reflection of the skyscraper and wondering why it’s so damn quiet.

We walk down the street away from the fire some more. We meet back up with our group of friends/co-workers. Those of us that are talking are swearing and asking where the fire-department is.

Maybe thirty seconds later we hear the first sirens down the street and a small firetruck wheels around the block. Then a police car. Then an ambulance.

The flames have already died down so that I can’t see them in the windows of the skyscraper. We walk around the corner to look down the side of the block were the fire is and see that it’s largely died down on the initial building and has caught the one next to it.

You can hear and see glass and things shattering and falling to the street below.

It’s crazy how many people are on the street watching, and how close they are.

The firefighters are hosing down both buildings. It’s good that there’s only two buildings on fire because I can only see two streams of water (and they look pitiful next to the mass of the buildings) arcing up to the flames.

More trucks come. More ambulances.

Jerrica, a coworker of ours, lives in the building right next to the one that is currently a black, smoldering husk. She was out shopping when the fire started. She’s with us now and looking white as a sheet.

Things look like they’re getting better, and we see the flashlights of the firefighters lancing around inside the building. I don’t guess they’re looking for coats and watches.

More gawkers show up, including one teenage boy braying out stupid laughter and yelling that “it’s a REAL fire!” He spoke pretty good English and I don’t doubt that every one of us thought about giving him a tongue-lashing (and maybe a little more), but he moved on towards the fire and we settled for glares. I’ll add that to my list of things to regret in hindsight, as the juvenile callousness of it strikes me raw still.

But then, what was I doing that was helping? I was standing on the same street as the teen, more composed or not, and I was doing the people in that building the exact same amount of good.

What’s more, I had been there when the fire was a shower of flame and sparks in the garage. I might have had a chance to have done something. What, I don’t know, but more than stand like an idiot in the street.

I didn’t want to be one of rubberneckers anymore. I wasn't helping anything, and it feels wrong at some point to watch a catastrophe – vulture-ish. Sheep-ish. Whatever, it doesn’t feel good. It seemed that everyone felt the same way, so we moved on.

A few seconds later, we’re making our way down the street, and a family of three (a Mom and her two sons) are next to us. The boy is coughing like he has a lung or two full of smoke and the mom is speaking to a nearby policeman rapidly.

I’m thinking: How the heck did he get out, and in silence? Where was the evacuation? Out the other side of the building?

The kid coughing is high school aged. Daniel gleans that the building on fire (the initial one) was a math and engineering hagwan (private school), not unlike the one we work at. It lets out late, so you can be sure it was full of kids like the one coughing his face red in front of me.

It’s good to see that he’s unburnt. He seems shaken up, but ok. I guess he’ll be one of the hundred or so to go the hospital and leave the same night.

Lauren gets news on her phone that no one was killed (or so we think).

I’m thinking it’s incredible that within thirty minutes we can get a full casualty report via the internet. It can already be up on someone’s wall getting emoticons and likes before yon coughing kid has made his way to the next block.

That’s something.

So we walk on. No one’s really vocal about BBQ anymore. We go for burgers.

On the street are oblivious passersby laughing with their mouths open and having a good ole time on Friday night, and I guess why shouldn’t they?

It’s a little weird, and no one knows what to say really.

The tavern we go to is warm and lively– it’s called Travelers, and is known as a foreigner bar. Duh. They have a food challenge.

The challenge is a burger (a great burger) made up of four half-pound beef patties (rare in Korea), 8 slices of bacon (also rare), and 4 slices of cheese (even rarer), next to a mound of potato wedges with chili poured over them. There was a pickle involved too, if I remember correctly.

It might seem like a weird time to do the challenge, given the context, but I think it was the right move. We knew then that no one had been killed, but there was still an off-ness to things. I think we were all unsettled. The challenge gave us something else to think about.

I could write a good deal about it (or play it up a great deal, at least), but after writing about the fire, I don’t much feel like it. Ask me about the burger in person sometime and I promise to ham it up proper. I’ll spin you a yarn.

Suffice it to say that we handled it (Andrew, Daniel and I) in short order.

We played a few games of darts afterwards and had some drinks and laughs, and by the end of the night we were comparing food babies and having a good time. Not that I doubt that everyone spent some time that night thinking on what we had seen, especially when we finally got back to our beds.

I certainly thought about it.

I guess it turned out as well as it could have, considering. I’ll be reading up on what can be done in the future. What I’ve found pretty much amounts to: 1. Call the fire department. 2. Get out of the way.

I don’t know what I was expecting to find.

It was a wild thing to see that building go up so fast. I mean, SO fast. It was scary, yeah, but more so, it was shocking. The shock and the feeling of helplessness – of not being able to do a single thing to help. I felt very young. I think that's what I’ll remember the most.

I’m just glad everyone is mostly ok.

I spoke to a Korean man in a store this morning about it. His shop is directly across from the burnt buildings (both now black husks). He didn’t say much. Just pursed his lips and shook his head. I guess that’s about how I feel to.  

Here's a video of the fire for those who care to see. I'm not sure who took it. Someone in the Facebook group for foreigners in this area.  ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhEXzeEBSo8

The original building Saturday morning

Singing (and Dancing) for our Supper

The first snow has fallen. The sidewalks are coated with ice some mornings. The air comes with a bite. Winter’s arrived in the ROK. The winters here come down from Siberia, and while I’ve certainly been colder, the dry-cold is something new. Before coming to Korea, I’d never had a nosebleed. Not from southern winters or Colorado elevation or anything else. I’ve had several over the past few weeks. I guess just from the walk to work in the morning. Strange.

Christmas is also getting closer, which means that soon I’ll see my mom and sister, which is exciting! I’ve been planning a good bit for that. It’s Mom’s first time out of the country, so I want to do it big.

Christmas also means that KCTY is gearing up for our annual Christmas celebration. This is something that most private academies do, it seems. When I was researching schools to work at, most of the blogs and forum rants/raves were concerning Christmas celebrations. I’m not planning on tearing off a rant, but I can see why there are so many to be found. It’s a stressful time.

This is where I work right now.

Private academies (hagwans, as they’re called here) work on a monthly basis. We have semesters, yeah, but every student pays tuition on a monthly basis, so they can choose to stay or go at pretty much any point. That being the case, anything that our parents (our clients) see, like homework, is extremely important. This is also true for the kind of feedback our students give their parents, and it is doubly true for anytime parents come into the school – that’s pretty much mission-critical, danger-close, crunch time. And on top of these facts, the Christmas celebration has a history of expectation.

It’s a big deal.

The smallest kindergartners recite a poem and sing a Christmas song (complete with a choreographed dance). My kids -- the older kindergartners (around age 7) each have to stand in front of their parents/school staff and give a “Christmas speech”, before they also sing and dance. And when I say sing and dance, I mean my Korean teacher has choreographed a full routine (involving jazz hands and imaginary top hats) to Frosty the Snowman. Eat your heart out Brittany Spears. 

As if their day wasn’t going to be hard enough, I’m also required to sing and dance with them.

When you put the celebration in the context of a client quality control check (which it most certainly is), it feels a little less like putting on a goofy, kindergarten Christmas show, and more like (literally) singing and dancing for your supper. My senses tell me that my class of seven-year-olds’ performance at the celebration (and my own performance) will have a substantial impact on how the administration views my professional standing.

And that’s pretty funny, when you think about it. Sort of.

Like I said, it’s a high tension time. I’m drilling the kids on their speeches incessantly. I made them write three drafts (this thing is 1-2 pages in their slightly oversized child-scrawl), which I edited at each step. After that, I’ve typed them all up and spot-cleaned them.

My Korean teacher (the woman who minds the kids while I’m planning or at lunch) asked me today to work with the kids more on their speeches as “their pronunciations still sound Korean.”

It amazes me how much these kids do. They’re six, and they’re fluent in two languages, writing more (with fewer complaints), and editing at a higher level than a good many high schoolers that I’ve taught. Still, I’ll be damned if a few of these six-year-olds who are reciting pages of Christmas speech from memory in their second language don’t have a bit of an accent. A few say hot cocoa like “hot co-co-ah”.

I don’t know why they even bother trying, honestly. Amateurs.

A few of the kids are having trouble memorizing all of the speech, on account of they only have my two 40 minute blocks a day to practice. And that’s not even really the case because we still have our normal workload of reading and writing to attend to. I suggested that the kids take copies of their speeches home to practice, but that was vetoed on grounds that it would ruin their parent’s surprise at the celebration.

But we make do. It’s a little tense, but we’re hanging in there. The admins and Korean teachers prod a lot and try to play up the celebration’s importance, and why wouldn’t they? It’s essentially an audit.

The kids don’t really seem phased by all that’s getting thrown at them (which is comforting seeing as how much their temerity affects my relationship with the administration). I guess they’re just used to it all.

At sound point I have to learn our dance routine. Hoping my mom doesn't make it here in time to watch all of this, though given that she would be standing beside the parents of my kindergartners, that would be pretty funny. 

So, in the end, maybe I ranted a little bit. Thanks to those of you who stuck with this past the nosebleed part. The work is busy, but that’s a good thing. 

Missing Vacation Days, and other unsolved mysteries

It’s an easy, brisk afternoon here in the ROK. Overcast. I think it’s supposed to snow today.

I’m posted up on the couch in front of my big, street-facing window with two fingers of whiskey and my pipe. It’s Saturday. Life is good.

I’ve been absent from the blogosphere for a good while, and to my folks back home, I apologize. The reasons have been twofold.

1. It's been busy. Productive, but very busy.

After about 15 days of heavy studying, I took the GRE. That was big. I did about as expected, that is, good on the verbal section and not so good on the quantitative reasoning section. That’s allowed me to apply to graduate schools, which I’ve finished as well.

I applied to six MA in English programs. Many of those are in North Carolina. I’d be excited to go to any of them, so it really just comes down to where I (hopefully) get funding. If you’ve ever applied to graduate schools, you know it’s a lot of doing and redoing. I’m glad to be done with it, and I should (hopefully) know most of the admissions decisions by late March – so that’s exciting.

I also have been workshopping a fiction piece pretty aggressively, and have sent it out to a handful of magazines/journals. That’s a big step for me, so I’m pretty excited/anxious to see how it goes. Hearing back from editors can take anywhere from 1-6 months, though, and the odds of being published are pretty slim, so I’m doing my best to forget about it for now and just be surprised when the email comes or doesn’t come.

Still, the past four months have been some of the most productive of my writing life for sure, and that feels good.

I’m reading a lot more too, and that goes hand-in-hand with the writing. I re-read Call of the Wild (mostly on the subway), and enjoyed a biography on Jack London (really interesting guy). I’m still reading the Darktower books, but I’m taking my time with them (so I don’t finish them), and am reading the Illiad (a great translation recommended by Foose) and a book about writing biographies (something I might want to get in to when I get home).

I also just started To Kill a Mockingbird yesterday, which has always embarrassed me to have not read. It’s great. Funny too. I think I’m reading it at precisely the right time though. Better raptly now than apathetically as a 6^th grader.

2. The work has been wearing on me.

I’m spoiled, I know. Teaching’s not easy (to do well), but I know there are folks back home working 55+ hours a week doing things a lot more strenuous. Hell, Jack London supposedly shoveled coal 14 hours a day for a stretch. Still, it’s got me about licked recently. I blame working in public ed. back home mostly. In NC I had 10 sick days (used mostly as weekend extenders), and 10 more optional personal days (I didn’t use those on account of the $50 they dock your pay). On top of that, American holidays are generous.

That’s not really the case when you’re teaching in a private academy in Korea. The kids work like machines, and you’re expected to follow suit. There aren’t any sick days (not really), the holidays are few and far between, and you don’t have any optional vacation days. I’m not telling you this to gripe. I knew (mostly) what I was signing up for, and the pay is fair. I’m saving over half my (tax free) check to set me up for when I make landfall back in the states. Gripes not-withstanding, though, 55 hours non-stop does take a toll, especially on a bookish homebody.

Nothing breaks up the grind like field trip day, but what doesn't come through in this picture is the smell.

We’ve been in a vacation-less stretch, which, along with fatigue, has grounded us in Bundang most weekends. So for the past couple of months it’s not been the adventure I dreamed of, but it’ll open up. We’re planning to travel extensively after our contract is up in the summer, and there are a couple three day weekends in the spring that we’re planning escapes for.

And of course there’s Christmas, when we’ll have off the 24^th through the 3/4^th (I think). My mom and sister are coming over for that (which is huge). So there’s hope on the horizon – it’s just been a busy stretch of grinding it out.

With the GRE (mostly) slain, grad schools implored, and some of my creative goals met, I’m free to join a gym come next pay-day, and that’ll do me well. In teaching, it’s easy to get home mentally tired, but physically bored.

I’ve become very project driven. One project done, and on to the next one. And that’s good. I’m getting stuff done.

Going back to school when I get home is really exciting. An MA in English will put me in line for a PhD, which will let me teach lit. at a university. I think sometimes about taking time off after the MA to teach at a community college (if I can – and I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve for securing a job in that field). If getting my MA convinces me that lit. isn’t what I want to do (and if my writing goes anywhere), I’ve played with the idea of getting a PhD in creative writing and teaching that.

I also enjoyed teaching high school, so that’s not an unhappy backup. I could coach and the pay isn’t bad if you hold a graduate degree in your field. I’d like to think I don’t need that much, materially speaking. Most of my friends would call me low maintenance. My mom would say that kind of thinking is myopic -- it’s easy to be low maintenance without a family, but that’s another blog.

Mostly, I just want to get back in the classroom as a student. Read some books. Write. Get smarter. That’s why I’ve always loved the idea of teaching at a university – everyone there is trying to learn (or meet girls). Everyone’s trying to better themselves. It’s infectious. Fulfilling. Maybe that sounds naive, but it was my experience. That’s the real drive for going back to school, and that makes me feel like it’s a good use of my time, or at least an honest use of my time.

It’s already getting bitter cold in Korea. It’s a dry cold. It was down in the twenties this past week. We made kimchi at the school with the kids, and a lot of Koreans will make more with their families this weekend. It’s a tradition that calls back to the days when people would bury a jar full of the stuff (cabbage, fish oil, and spices) and dig it up for the lean times in the winter. I love it.

So that’s the situation here. It’s cold. We’re working a lot. I’m chewing through projects, and working at goals. It’s been a plod, admittedly, but we’re looking forward to traveling – that’s what we came here to do, after all.

I’ve still got the heat turned off in the apartment (I love bundling up in the cold), and it reminds me a lot of my first year living off campus in Milledgeville. What a happy slum that house was! Good memories of freezing my butt off, huddling around the open stove in the kitchen with my roommates and sleeping in my coat and boots. It’s not quite that cold, but seeing my breath in my living room always takes me back to that winter.

Missing you all back home, and glad to have seen your snaps and posts of Turkey Day. I’ll post more. 

Squid : Pumpkins as Batman : Robin

Dodong Sunset

The boat jumps in the surf like a fish and lands like a rock. Someone in the front of the ship heaves wetly. A shared groan rises from the rows of chairs. The cabin is a miasma of stale air and the smell of sick.

Rough going in the East Sea.

I'm sitting in the back of the ferry trying to remind myself that I've never been seasick before (and until last weekend, I hadn't been). Next to me an elderly Korean man holds his stomach with one hand and an opaque, black ziplock in the other. He's staring at the floor while a young woman in a ferry uniform rubs his back.

The ship lifts and slams. People rock in their seats. A girl from Germany takes exaggerated stagger steps on her way to the aft bathroom, just trying not to fall down.

"Try chewing gum," the Korean ferrymaid says to me politely (and in perfect English), still trying to comfort the old man. "I'm worried about you." I guess I don't look so hot.

The old man turns in my direction and vomits into his bag. Loudly. Sweat beads on my brow while my mouth fills up with watery, thin saliva. "There," the woman points to the concession booth nearby. Another ferry worker brings the old man a wetnap.

I push my back against the rolling wall of the ship and slide up to my feet.

"Gum? Ju-say-oh? (means 'please', or thereabout)" The man behind the counter is dressed in a black vest over a short-sleeved white button-up and wearing a hat that makes his outfit look unmistakably professional-bowlerish. He stares at me blankly, then smiles. "Gum?" I chomp my teeth a few times on imaginary, magic gum that keeps you from getting seasick.

The man points to a bag of chips. I don't see any gum behind the counter. Damn. I wave my hand. "Ah-neo (No), gam-sah-ham-ni-dah (thanks anyway, compadre)"

"Sweet Baby Jesus be with you," he replies.

I swear, he said this.

I meet his eye, a little shocked at the Ricky-Bobby-ism given the circumstances, then rip a black ziplock from my jacket pocket and heave up 14,000 Korean Won of fried chicken and squid.

And those are the highlights from the ride back.

The trip to the island was much smoother. Strange to think that our voyage on The Seastar was over the same sea lane, but I'm told the current direction matters a lot. Sure seemed to.

After the teacher appreciation dinner our school threw at a BBQ joint (worthy of its own blog), an hour on the subway, and five hours on a bus -- we were finally ready to get on a boat and get out to the island. Korea is a relatively small country (or rather, the US is a relatively huge one), but Ulleungdo is still a good long way away. Maybe another 3.5 hours by ferry from the east coast.

That's a long boat ride

The ferry we were originally slated to take lost an engine, so we were pushed to another several hours later. The group we were traveling with (Adventure Korea) made up for this by taking us to a couple beaches to chill at along the way. We saw the sunrise over a beach that's allegedly the set of the Korean version of the OC, although it was bitter cold on the beach in the pre-dawn. Still, a beach is a beach and the travel planner was making lemonade, I know.

Adventure Korea was sweet. It's one of several companies here that plan these big trips. They're all geared towards English speakers. You pay a flat rate, and the company handles everything. Most of your meals, all of your lodging, all the transportation; it's all pre-arranged and prepaid, so once you cough up the $400 you can pretty much just chill. We were hesitant to pay that much for a 4.5 day vacation, but when we started looking at setting up all of the moving parts ourselves, we found we weren't saving enough money to make it worth the time or trouble.

At the ferry station our tour guide/planner handed out tickets. We were pretty beat, having not really slept on the way. My ticket had my name misspelled, so I was corralled into a special group of misfit toys. This turned out to be a good thing. Prior to this trip, Maria and I hadn't really talked to anyone outside of our coworkers and each other, and that had been about 2.5 months now. So when we joined up with a group of 118 westerners, many of who came in large groups of friends, I know I was feeling a little out of my element. Like I had forgotten how to talk to new people.

Meeting Basia (pronounced Basha) helped a lot. Truthfully, we wouldn't have found the bus pickup in Seoul without her. In the messed-up-ticket group I met a fisherman from the states and some Swedes. The fisherman was definitely my favorite. He's been teaching here for 17 months, and spends his free time flying around the country and Southeast Asia on fishing trips. Six feet tall and made an inch or too taller by big hiking boots. An eccentric dude, he was wearing the neon hiking gear normally favored by old Korean men and had three collapsable fishing poles strapped to his back. Like Goofy meets Bear Grylls. "This is me with a catfish in Vietnam. 77 kilos." He's flashing his phone around to all the guys in the ticket circle. I know he was born in 1985, because he was shouting across the tarmac ferry landing that his ticket read 9185. He was fun to talk to.

On the ferry, I sat next to a woman named Kim, who I just call "the artist". We get to talking about teaching and traveling and hobbies and jobs, and before long she's got her cell phone out showing me metal crafted scrap art (really amazing stuff) that she's sold and donated. She was great too. Says she hiked about South Africa when she graduated high school, and has been going to school and traveling ever since. One those folk who you can smell the sense on. Smart lady.

And of course, there was Donovan. I was talking to a French exchange student while we waited on the ferry, and found out there were people from North Carolina in his group. Turns out that Donovan wasn't just from North Carolina, but graduated from West Meck High, where I very nearly worked in Charlotte. And here he is. In line for a ferry in South Korea. Small world.

Like I said, the ferry ride to the island was easy. As we near the shore the talking and mingling on the boat stops. Everyone is staring out of the windows. Cameras come out. This place is incredible. I snagged the pictures I posted on Facebook before we went from Google, but the real deal looks just as amazing, if not more so. Towering rock spires jut out of the sea next to island-proper. Black/grey rocks, sheers cliffs, and dark green foliage. I've never been to Hawaii, never seen a true volcanic island in person. They look raw. I mean fresh. Like they were born yesterday. I used to teach about igneous rocks (formed directly from magma/lava) in my earth science class, now I can see the pores in the rock where the air escaped in the cooling process. Now I can see flows of basalt. Incredible.

We dock on the island, and everyone piles out. My throat starts to itch as we're marshaled to the bus that will take us into town, and I realize it's because I haven't closed my mouth since we landed.

The bus ride to Dodong (the largest village on the island) isn't long. From there we trek through the narrow streets to our hotel. 118 of us stand out in front of the steps to the place, tired but excited. It's maybe 5 PM. "Ok, everyone," our travel planner says over the crowd. He's using the exact same voice as every summer camp counselor you've every had. "This is our hotel. The itinerary for our trip will be posted on the wall there. Get in to groups of four or five, and I'll give you your room key." And just like that we went from being 118 people on the precipice of a sweet vacation to 118 middle schoolers on the precipice of a kickball game. Everyone's grouped up in twos and threes, looking around to see who they'll be sharing their room with. Trying not to make eye contact with people they don't want to sleep next to.

Dodong

Basia, Maria, and I are standing in a group looking for a group of two or so. That's when we see Jerry and Emily doing the same. We join up, having not spoken to them before (though I think I stood next to Jerry at some point), and get assigned to a room on the roof of the hotel, which would prove fortuitous.

Slumber party

Our room was pretty small. Just a square room with a bathroom. A stack of blankets sat in the corner that we were able to make pallet beds out of. It was all very open. The shower didn't even have a curtain -- it was that kind of open. When everything was all set up, it looked like a slumber party, and I guess it was. Just a bunch of people piled into a room full of pillows and blankets. It was a good time.

You always bond fast with people in situations like this, when you're traveling or in programs or camps. I don't know why it happens, but it does. I was only in Greece for six weeks my Sophomore year, but when I got back I felt like I had known the people I was traveling with for months. It went something like that here as well. People pack up (like wolves, I mean). Must be all the "other" around you in situations like that. Not a lot of English outside of the group -- that's a strong bonder. Everyone's is experiencing a lot of new, and it's always more fun to share that with someone. Whatever the reason, the five of us became fast friends (as I write this, I'm actually getting ready to meet them all in Seoul tonight for a firework festival).

Five minutes after we set our stuff down in the room, all 118 of us (or thereabout) were to be back down in front of the hotel and moving in a herd for the water. My crew missed the meeting and walked the backtrail, following the sounds of English and laughter. The village is situated in a valley and slopes down to the ocean. There's a fish market there, and a bridge that connects to a thin path. The path is made of small bridges in some places or just cut from the side of the mountain/island (on a volcanic island, mountain and island are pretty much synonymous). We follow the path until we find the rest of our group amassed around a bridge. Everyone's stripped down to their bathing suits and is jumping off.

It's getting dark, but we've been travelling for 20 hours since we left Seoul, and we didn't come to this island to not jump into the ocean. I peel off my shirt and hop the bride alongside Jerry and the two Swedes from the misfit-ticket circle.

The water feels good. Really good. It's salty like the Mediterranean was. So salty that you barely have to tread water to stay afloat. I swim around for a bit watching people jump and smiling like an idiot until the sun really goes down, then everybody walks back to the hotel for dinner (we may have stopped for beer and ice-cream on the way).

The Chuseok harvest moon is the biggest of the year.

The hotel provides dinner. Kimchi, rice, and greens (I say greens because I have no idea what it really was). Of course, the fisherman joined our table. He says he's going to spend all of Monday fishing (It's Saturday night). Tomorrow, we're slated to go on a bus tour of the island (the whole island), and then hit a pretty gnarly hike. Tuesday we've got a cable car ride planned, but Monday is all free time.

After dinner, we walk back up to our room and share a few drinks and stories. Basia is from Hawaii and has been in-country for a year and a half, Jerry is from Toronto, and Emily is from Florida. A small party kicks up on the roof outside or our room, and we explore it a little, meeting people from all over. It's a blast to talk to such a mixed group of people. The Netherlands, Sweden, England, Germany, France, Canada, Peru, California -- it's a wild mix. Seems like I could have counted on my fingers how many people I knew from out of state when I was in college, and now this. Is this how people in Europe feel all the time?

Everyone's pretty tired, and tomorrow's going to be a doozy, so we hit the hay pretty early (maybe around 1 AM).

The next day we eat breakfast (kimchi, rice, and greens), and load up into three buses for a tour of the island. You can see from the map below that the island has a good many villages. There's a road that traces the island, and one off shoot that snakes up to the village in the volcano's crater, but other than that there don't seem to be too many roads. It's too mountainous. That means that our bus tour (five hours) was spent driving along the coast. Mountains and jungle on our right, and the wide sea to our left.

Ulleungdo

I wasn't too keen on sitting on a bus for five hours, but it was the best, and only, way to see the whole island. I figured that once we saw it all like this, we could take a cab wherever we wanted to go on Monday. There are a lot of small rock vigil islands just off of Ulleungdo. You can see most of them on the map. Our guide sat in the front of the bus calling out their names on a microphone as we passed them. "To your left is Dragon Rock." "Look! Penis Rock!" "Ahead is Baby Bear. The story goes that Mama Bear fell in to the ocean, and Baby Bear is still waiting for her. See how he looks out over the cliff?" "Ah, look! Bigger Penis Rock!" I wasn't able to confirm with village elders if "Baby Bear" is legitimate, so I can't prove that for our five hour tour this guy was just making up rock names and giggling out phallic jokes -- but I know what I would do.

Racks on racks of squid

The bus stops to let us out in several places. The island's biggest export is squid (which you can see drying on racks EVERYWHERE), and after that it's pumpkin. That may sound like a strange combo to you, but on Ulleungdo squid and pumpkins are like Batman and Robin. One of the places we stopped was a pumpkin farm where the farmers made bread and candy from their crop of gourds. That's pretty cool, but it get's better. This is a volcanic island. The edge of a volcanic island. Space is at a premium, and arable land is negligible. The farmers' pumpkin patch is spread out over a series of terraces that they get to via a mini roller coaster. That's right, when the pumpkin farmers aren't making candy in their oceanfront home/business, they're riding their personal roller coaster down a mountain. I know the grass is always greener, but gosh -- that sounds pretty objectively green.

Don't know which phallic rock that is

Next, we eat lunch in the crater of the volcano. I'm told that this is the only village in the world where people are living in a volcano. Don't know about that, but the lunch was amazing -- a bowl of rice and greens with a side of kimchi. Outside, the crater village has several field of herbs planted. The ground is totally level and all around us the walls of the caldera rise up to form the broken rim of the extinct volcano. Pretty amazing. Our hike will leave from this village, the guide tells us. It's slated to be a four hour ordeal, and the route will take us across the crater, up over the rim, and then back down to Dodong. We'll be climbing around 1,400 ft, which isn't terrible, but isn't anything to sneeze at.

It's a tradition here to drink a special pumpkin wine-drink at the top of the mountain. Mackalay, I think it's called, but I was calling it all kinds of things at the time. Mack-a-laid. Macklejon. Pumpkin wine, would serve. Just when the group was starting to leave for the hike I ran back in to the restaurant we ate lunch at to buy some. The elderly woman behind the counter didn't speak any English, but I gave her 10,000 KRW (a little less than 10 bucks) and said "Mack-a-laid, please", just the same. She pocketed the money and walked back in to the kitchen. I waited. Three minutes or so pass. The group is starting to leave. I'm thinking that there's no way I'm going to be able to explain to this woman what I want, and even if I could, where is she. Looks like I just donated 10 bucks to the island retirement fund.

I'm thinking of just leaving when the woman comes back with a a clear plastic liter bottle of what I'm assuming is mackalay (looks like a cloudy white liquid), a bag of greens (imagine green beans in some kind of sauce), and a few pairs of chopsticks. I thank her profusely (no change was given, so I guess she just gave me 10 bucks worth of stuff), and hustle back to catch the group.

The hike is a long one. It's beautiful, but it's a no joke hike. After we cross the crater basin, which looks like one wide meadow, we reach a trail that snakes through some woods and ends at a long wooden stairway. Up, and up, the stairs go beyond count. I've never hiked in a group so large, and it's really the opposite of what I go for when I'm trying to get away from it all, but it wasn't bad. The big group stratified pretty fast. The folk that had come in jeans fell to the back and the spryer crowd moved to the front. The stairs gave way to mountain paths and switchbacks. We stopped for a while at a natural spring where the islanders had made a rock pool to catch the water. They even left plastic ladles for drinking.

Some hours later we reached the top. The summit of the mountain marked the highest point on the island, but it was wreathed in clouds, so the views weren't stellar (aside from the clouds drifting between the green mountains). We popped the mack-a-laid, and it was pretty sweet stuff. The woman at the restaurant gave me 6 cups, so we passed around those and then passed the bottle. The police force for the island was out on a training exercise and had also made the climb. They produced several mack-a-laid bottles (I saw now that the ten-dollar bottle the woman had given me was much larger than the normal ones), and had lunch. I bartered the tailend of our mack-a-laid for some of their tofu, and passed a few words with those that spoke English -- it seems like most young people here do.

The hike down went fast. We reached Dodong in maybe 40 minutes. It was so steep coming down that many of us took to walking backwards to save our knees. I'll credit Jerry for starting that.

A group congregated in front of a convenience store, and we stopped to eat some fruit. Basia and I sliced up a couple Korean pears. After that, we made for the water. Seemed like a good time to jump off a bridge. But wouldn't you know it, the island 5-0 was there waiting. Some cop was standing on the bridge scolding the lot of us, telling us not to swim here. Of course we looked like belligerent spring breakers, most of us naked to the waist and streaked with mud from the hike. Koreans handle partial nudity very differently than westerners. When I went to the beach a month or so ago, Maria and I were the only people I saw in bathing suits. It's a modesty thing here.

Knowing that, I guess it makes a little sense that when 35 or so sweaty foreigners start pulling off their clothes and jumping off bridges along a scenic waterfront path (and in view of a little restaurant), the local authorities get a little uppity. That being said, we didn't travel all this way to not swim in the crystal cobalt ocean, so Maria, Emily and I walked a ways down the path and jumped in there. And it was nice. Really nice. There aren't many beaches here, not sandy ones anyway. The rocks are young and sharp, but man, the water. Just on the edge of cold, and depending on the sunlight, it goes from a light aqua to a deep blue-green. And clear. Clear in the way the only rocky places can be. No sand. No mud. You can see straight down in the water until the light gives out and it all fades to blue. So, you see, we had to jump in. It was out of our hands.

We'd been all the way around and over the island that day. Around and back again. Everyone was pretty tired. After dinner at the hotel (a familiar looking arrangement of kimchi, rice, and greens), we made for our room. Another roof party kicked up that night, this one bigger than last night, and we joined in. One thing led to another (and by "one thing" I mean a drink composed of yogurt and soju, and by another I mean "another one or two of those") and we found ourselves at the village noray-bong (karaoke). I can't remember if I've told you about soju yet or not. It's definitely a thing here. Rice liquor, I guess you'd call it. Sort of tastes like a sweet, weak vodka.

Monday came and we slept late. Probably until 11. I won't say it wasn't needed. We missed breakfast, though I bet I can guess what it was.

This was our free day, and we meant to spend it swimming. There was a group going to a place called "Pebble Beach," but we missed their cab. No worries, we'll just catch our own. Maria, Jerry, Emily, and I walked down to the harbor and flagged a taxi. People stared. Openly stared. It's a thing here to be not Korean. In a country where there isn't a substantial base of really different demographics, that's natural I guess. It's not the skin-tone melting/mixing pot that the US is. You get on a subway and everyone is Korean, or at least from Asia usually. I know I'm running the risk of sounding pretty arrogant when I say that, and I'm sure there are a good many demographics of people in Korea (and especially in Seoul) that I just don't know about, but I can tell you without a shadow of doubt that people stare at you if you're from out of town. I watched an old woman eyeball us for 40 yards as she walked down the street, and when she passed us she turned her head 180 degrees like an owl and stared at us for 40 more yards. We're an attraction.

The cab gets there, and we pile in. "Pebble Beach," I said. I guess I hoped it would be that easy. None of us knew how to say "pebble," "beach," or "where's the bathroom," but we hoped it would work out. The guy is looking at me like I have three eyes. "Pebble Beach." I try again. "Swimming," and now I mime out a passable freestyle stroke.

"Swimming!" the cabbie says. Relief blooms across my shoulders.

"Yes, swimming!" I smile, and take a few more imaginary strokes, imagining, I guess, that he was just going to drive us to his personal swimming hole.

"Ah-neo. No swimming," the driver replies, looking confused. Damn. The cabbie is looking around anxiously, like he's thinking about dumping his load of illiterate, swimming mimes.

Jerry ultimately saved the day by getting our trip planner on the phone and then passing the mobile to the cab driver. I hear a quick exchange in Korean over the line. "Ah, Pebble Beach," the cab driver says. I swear, he just said "Pebble Beach" with a Korean accent. Whatever, we're on the way to the beach now and the cabbie is driving his Hyundai Galloper like he stole it.

The beach isn't all that far, and it isn't all that beachy. Mostly pebbles. Ten or so people from our group lounge on the rocks. No one's swimming. Esta no bueno. My crew walks along a path cut into the mountain. It goes over some construction and across a rusty bridge, and before long we find ourselves on another face of the island, perching like sea birds on the cliffs and looking out at the wide pacific. Two guys are snorkling. One climbs up the cliff face a little ways and then leaps off in the ocean. Bingo. This is what we were looking for.

There was even a model there to watch!

The cliff overlooks a small harbor an a few off-shoot islands. The place we were jumping from was around 20 feet from the water. That's not all that high, but it was enough of a rush to warrant spending the better part of the day sunning ourselves on the cliff and jumping off when we felt like it. It was partly cloudy, and it got pretty cold a few times, but the cliff face was warm from the day's sun. I just sort of wedged myself into it and chilled out for an hour or so.

We ran into another group of people that I had spoken with briefly on the hike. A guy with them, Nathan from Chicago, and I struck up a conversation about tattoos and grandfathers. They had a speaker and were cranking out some goodies. Nice folk.

"crappy backflip'

After a few hours hanging out there, and after I worked up the courage to execute what Maria called "a crappy backflip", we walked to a nearby fishing village and caught a cab back to Dongdo.

Top is an oyster. Bottom is unidentified ocean-meat

When we got back we decided to hit up this awesome seafood restaurant that we'd been eyeing since we arrived on the island (the one on the way to the jumping bridge). It didn't have a name that I could see. But why waist time on a name when you're running fresh seafood out of a pirate cove. The place was all outdoors. Really, it was just a partially roofed booth overlooking a bunch of tables next to the sea. How fresh was the seafood? For starters, there's a hose pumping fresh seawater straight out of the pacific and into kiddie pools of oysters, clams, conchs, and various other ocean-meat bearing critters. When we talked up there was some guy in fishermen's boots sitting on the ground and bashing apart conchs with a hammer. It looked like the spot.

I don't know if it counts as haggling, but the guy shouted two or three different prices at us when we asked for a plate of muscles, each lower than the last. What we ended up with was two big beers, a fair-sized bowl of the biggest muscles I've ever seen in my life, and another dish filled with some raw mollusk. I have absolutely no idea what the last dish was. Maybe cut up raw conch. Emily and Maria were guessing sea slug. I could see sea cucumber, maybe. Who knows. It was good though. Really good. All of that for about $10 a person.

On the way home we walked through the fish market, where women in overalls and tall rubber boots hollered at us in Korean over kiddie pools of squid, some small striped fish, and a single, sad-eyed tuna. Emily bought some grilled squid and split it up amongst us. I'm not big on calamari, but this was great! It had some kind of dry rub on it. Tasted like smokey squid jerky.

We went back to the hotel and passed out for around an hour or so. It was the kind of deep, clean nap you take after you swim all day or go to the beach. We woke up feeling refreshed and hungry again, and hit up a spaghetti and pizza place right next to our hotel. We ordered the pumpkin pizza (they also had squid), which was dope. After that we picked up a few more yogurts and sojus from the convenience store (Basia also told us about a drink made from soju and melted Popsicle, so we picked up a few of those as well).

That night the roof party came to us. A rotating cast of six or so Europeans joined our slumber party and helped us celebrate out last night on the island. I spent the better part of the night back down in front of the convenience store with a Californian named Chaz, a Peruvian/German named Patrick, and Jerry (our friendly neighborhood Canadian). We passed around a giant beer and a big bowl of ramen and swapped stories until around 5 AM. It was a really nice night.

The next morning, our last on the island, we took a cable car up to another peak that overlooked the town of Dongdo. I hiked out a little further to a gazebo/observation tower that overlooked the harbor. All of our calves were shredded from Sunday's hike out of the crater, but it was worth it. Pretty stunning views.

Soon after that we rolled through the only souvenir shop on the island. I really, really hate feeling like a tourist. Feeling like I'm being led around by my nose. Suckered, somehow. Feeling like I'm in a tourist trap makes my blood boil. I NEVER got that feeling on this island. It really, really felt like a fishing (squiding?) village in the middle of the ocean that we just happened to be trekking around. That was my favorite part, I think. It felt really honest.

Anyway, you should know that a few hours boat ride from Ulleungdo is an island called Dokdo, and it's ownership is a bit of an issue in these parts. Dokdo is very close to Japan. The Japanese say it's their island, the Korean's say it's theirs. I've been told that if it went in front of an international court (is that a thing?), Japan would win the island, but I wouldn't say that to anyone in Korea. They get pretty serious about it. At the base of the cable car launch there's a "Dokdo Museum", which is pretty much just a few rooms full of "historical evidence" establishing Dokdo as a Korean territory.

In the souvenir shop they were selling shirt that had a picture of the island and the text, "Dokdo: It's our territory!" So you can see that they're pretty convinced -- making t-shirts and all. I wonder if there's a Japanese version. It would be nice to have the set. I picked one up on a whim. Maybe if it ever does go before an international court and the island changes hands, it'll be worth something.

After the museum and the souvenir shop our hodge-podge crew (Nathan, Chaz, Jerry, Maria, Emily, and I) went out for chicken, which was OK at the time. Though, as you already know, I was fated to taste it more than once that day.

What a trip. Thanks to those of you who stuck it out reading all of this. I know it's been a long one, but I know I'll appreciate having a record of this one day. And I certainly appreciate being able to share it with all of you back home. This is a beautiful, amazing country and I'm trying my darnedest to see as much of it as I can. These travel groups seem to be a good way to do that. I'm flirting with the idea of doing a biking trip next weekend in some village to the south. More on that later.

Until next time.

Chuseok!

So this weekend is Chuseok. Harvest festival. Korean Thanksgiving. What ever you want to call it, we have off until Wednesday the 30th. That's five days if you count the few precious hours left to us after work on Friday (and I do count them -- every second). I'll be celebrating the reap-time by visiting Ullueng, an island in the East Sea (or Sea of Japan depending on your politics).

Assuming I don't get eaten by a dinosaur, I should have a lot more to say about this place when I get back. 

But all of that is still 8 hours away (!!!!!!) and in the meantime, as we count down the hours, minutes, seconds until

Chuseok in the teacher's workroom this Friday in the Republic of Korea, let me tell you a few stories.

Today, being the kid's last day in school before the Chuseok break, all of our students are decked out in hanboks (those sweet, colorful robes). It's pretty adorable. I feel like all these Korean kids have a keen awareness of how cute they are. You can tell by the way they take pictures. Very practiced.

After class, we took a group of them in to the library to make Songpyeon (a traditional Chuseok rice cake/bean treat). I'm not the biggest fan of rice cakes, but the kids love them, and they seemed to be having a good time. With a little luck and a few well placed stiff arms, I was able to dodge the hands'd up songpyeon the kids were offering. Sorry, kids.

Boystown

Gift giving is big here. Victoria (one of the Swans) gave me a huge box this morning when I came into the room. Inside were around nine packages of crackers, which was a TON of crackers. I don't think there was a racial pun intended. Later in the day, one of my homework class (like study hall) students gave me a wrapped present. No idea what it is, but I'm pumped!

Victoria making (wearing) songpyeon

I haven't said much about the past two weekends that Maria and I have spent in Seoul, which is a shame because they've been pretty sweet. I wouldn't feel good leaving the past two weeks unsaid, and next week I know I'll be preoccupied with whatever new species of pirate I discover on the aforementioned volcanic island.

Let's start with Karaoke.

That should clear up most of the details. Putting that diagram together also cleared out about an hour of my time.

We found ourselves at Karaoke under pretty much the same circumstances as in the states. Maria, Lauren, Andrew, Daniel and I went to an "American buffet" (there were tacos, so I guess that earns them the title. Tacos are pretty rare here) a couple weeks ago on a Friday, and went looking for trouble afterwards. As the diagram shows, Korean karaoke is pretty different than the way it goes down back home. There's no bar. You go to a special karaoke business (I think it's called a nor-ay-bong, but don't quote me), and they give you a private room (with bottle service or food if you pay for it).

I had heard about this before coming over, and was initially pretty apprehensive. I'm one of those who like karaoke. I don't even need the liquid-confidence runway that a lot of other folks seem to want. Not because I have a great voice, mind you. I just like singing on stage. If you don't have a performing art to your name, karaoke is one of the few times you might find yourself on a stage in front of people (some of who are even singing along!). I dig it. So when I heard that there were no crowds of strangers waiting to stamp their feet along to "Friends in Low Places" (the part of the atmosphere that I like the best), I was concerned it might be a little weird. And the idea of it does sound weird. You and four friends sitting in a dark room the size of a large closet with a flatscreen rolling lyrics while the in-wall speakers blare out Queen. But it's cool. A lot like road-trip singing, I would say.

Then last weekend, Maria and I hunted down a dog cafe that we'd been reading about for some time. It was either that or the Seoul Kimchi Museum. I love kimchi, but I'm pretty sure we made the right call. And yeah, you read that right. Dog cafe. A cafe where you can drink coffee, while being surrounded by 20-30 dogs. In Charlotte there are a lot of "dog-friendly" places -- restaurants and bars and cafes. I thought this was really cool when I moved there. "Take your dog to the cafe with you! What a great idea!" This is on a whole nother level.

The Malamute

You go to the cafe (called Bau House), buy a coffee (it's a rule that you buy something to stay longer than five minutes), and then drink it/hang out in a room packed with dogs. All kinds of dogs. Big dogs, medium sized dogs (there's another room for small breeds, but who cares). There were two Alaskan Malamutes there that were E-NOR-MOUS!







There were dogs lying on couches next to cafe patrons, dogs chasing other dogs around, dogs lying on table tops trying to steal licks from your coffee. I loved it. We spent most of the time hanging out with a German Shepard named something Korean. "The Biter", I called him. The café sells treats that you can give the dogs, and when someone buys a bag all the dogs flock to them. Of course, we bought a few bags to feed our favorites. The German Shepard had a habit of taking semi-serious nips at your butt/chest/leg/head if he felt like you weren’t giving him his due. One of the big Malamute dogs was about 13-years-old, and looked to have had a stroke at some point. He seemed like he was enjoying his golden years though. Guy looked like a dire wolf. You couldn’t help but stare.

Malamute Dramatization (sort of)

You don’t really see a lot of big dogs in Seoul, and so I feel like for many of the Koreans who come to Bau House (and I’m assuming here), it’s a real novelty to be around so many. Heck, I love big dogs and it was a novelty for me. We left after a few hours, covered in hair and slobber, happy as could be. The Bau House is around one of the many universities, so the area was pretty awesome. Lots of art. Lots of shops. Colorful.

Biter

Our Saturdays we always try to get out and explore someplace. Even on the slow weekends when we stay in town there’s a lot to do. We’ve still got a good many places in Seoul to check out. Temples, museums, parks, all of which are just a subway ride away.

I hope it doesn’t reflect too much in this post, but pretty much all I can think about right now is getting out to Ulleung. This week has been pretty killer at work, what with the grind to break and end of the month testing going on. I had a parent call in to tell the administrator that my class was "using too many games for a private academy," which I guess, in her estimation, is supposed to be as drudgerous as it sounds for our kids. Can't please them all. 

Looking forward to some R and R, and seeing that thin blue line over the Pacific.

Still don't know what he wanted...

Spicy Booty Chicks

It's actually Budae Jjigae, or "Budy Jigs" for short. Military Soup in English. All the same, when Daniel asked across the office if we wanted to pick up (what sounded a lot like) "Booty Chicks" after work, I didn't say no.

"It's like your college ramen grew up and got its life together."

Mmmmmmm.

No joke. This stuff was everything you wanted your college ramen to be, you just didn't know it. And being as most of my college ramen experiences were spent gnawing on squares of plain, dry noodles over the kitchen trashcan -- it was a definite upgrade.

I'm told that Budy Jigs is the product of the Korean war, when (mostly US) soldiers where trying to feed a lot of guys with whatever was on hand. Daniel has told me stories of soldiers going to to villages, picking up "whatever was red" and mixing it with their K-rations in water. The Koreans saw what they were doing, and thought it wise to perfect the dish and sell it. What you wind up with is pretty interesting.

Hot dogs, SPAM, bean sprouts, potato noodles, onions, pork dumplings, tofu, and a handful of other small veggies swim in a light, milky white starch broth made stain-your-shirt-forever red by chili sauce. You simmer all that over a burner on your table for a few minutes before you add the ramen. Stir. Then ladle the soup (I guess we'll call it soup) into bowls with rice in the bottom of them. It's hard for me to judge how that sounds to you, but I can tell you that the end result is filling and delicious. And cheap! For three of us to eat our fill it cost maybe $6 USD a person. The rice and ramen were free so when you finish one bowl you just re-up on rice and ladle out seconds -- family style. 

This place is right across the street from my apartment. I could literally hit it, along with a bakery, grocery store, and 10 other restaurants with a rock (or rocks). Growing up a 20 minute drive from town, this is a world apart. Some parts of city living still don't really appeal to me, but being able to walk to places like this is definitely awesome. 

And if I haven't made this clear enough already, I'm loving Korean food. It's cheap, filling, flavorful -- I'm all about it. Going to start fermenting Kimchi in the toilet cistern -- a la Korean prison (presumably).