the fantasy continues - korea 2010 seafood

What good is a trip without sampling some of a country's wonderful culinary creations?

I had a game plan of eating my way through the country, particularly feasting on the freshest, rawest seafood I could get my hands (mouth) on. Secondarily, I didn't want to rely on anglo-Americans like Anthony Bourdain and Andrew Zimmern of Travel Channel fame to tell me what I should be eating in South Korea. That's terrible. I needed to compile my own list of do's and dont's when it comes to Korean cuisine.

(Sad but true: I made sure to view Bourdain and Zimmern's respective South Korean episodes as part of my travel research. Pathetic)

Well, my ambitious eating agenda was foiled. It wasn't the heat or any post-travel stomach ailment that suppressed my appetite. Rather, I had underestimated the sheer volume of food that we'd need to consume when sharing meals with family members. Will we expect our children, nephews and nieces to gorge themselves? Will we derive pleasure from this? Certainly.

Additionally, I didn't consider how much food Koreans eat for breakfast. A full bowl of rice complete with all the sides that should accompany a large banquet dinner. Oh man! I'm not saying it wasn't delicious, which it was; it's just too much, and too much sodium at that. Eating that much to start your day completely derails it. All you can think about is how to properly suck in your stomach and carry yourself through all of the day's activities. It's uncomfortable to sit, it's tiresome to stand...

Let's not even discuss constipation anxiety.

Anyway, when we did eat, it sure was fantastic. More thoughts to come...

Thanks for stopping by.

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the motherland or my mother's land

It is Thursday (6.17) morning here in Korea. I wrote the following on Monday but did not have a chance to post this due to lack of internet connectivity:

For just a moment, Emmelle and I are an ocean away in South Korea. It's exciting, life-affirming and a salve from the unrelenting stress that work has been for the past two months. In the short time since our arrival, I think I've successfully displaced myself from responsibilities back home and am now, fully embracing our Korean retreat.

Let's be honest. Any location would have satiated our wanderlust; we chose Korea only because of a friend's wedding in Seoul. We planned a jam-packed (ambitious) itinerary around the wedding and are here for just nine days. This is my first trip here since I was eight, and quite pathetically, my first trip outside of North America since that time. I was born here. However, I didn't board the plane with a grandiose notion that this short vacation would be some sort of emotional journey to my homeland. Two-plus days into our travel, I can confidently say that it won't be. However, I am finding that this land is stirring some thought about my parents that have remained dormant for most of my life.

Leading up to the trip, Emmelle repeatedly explained to me that Korea today is not what I remember. I counter that I don't really recall anything about my birth country, just some slippery memories here and there, nothing substantial in the memory bank that I can withdrawal that I can discuss at length. I was three when Colonel Mustard and I left Korea to join our parents in California. I rely on dusty photo albums and my parents' stories to confirm I used to live there; I remember nothing. Similarly, I have retained only a handful of memories from the two extended summer trips taken at age seven and eight. I fully expected this place to feel like an unfamiliar, distant cousin - the one your parents talk about from time to time with each milestone she achieves.

Cousin? Yes. Distant cousin? No.

Two days ago, Emmelle and I were forced to walk several blocks in a mild summer downpour. We huddled closely under a shared umbrella, trying in vain to keep dry. There were thousands upon thousands of water needles prickling the cracked uneven pavement under our feet. This felt familiar, this felt Korean. But as soon as I attempted to invoke a childhood memory to explain the familiarity, it seeped through my fingers like the rain collected momentarily in my hand before making its full descent to the ground. For a moment, Korea is still a distant cousin.

And then, two apparitions that conjured this thought: This may not be your country, but it is and will always be your parents. Listen and watch attentively.

Firstly, I noticed a slender young man in army fatigues and black combat boots sitting across from me on a subway train. He wore square dark rimed glasses that accentuated his chiseled jaw line, his head freshly shaven. Handsome kid. I expected him to be sitting upright in his seat like most military personnel you encounter. Nope. This kid was slouched over and seemingly defiant of his enforced military training. Rebel. I couldn't help but think to myself that this could be my dad forty years ago. I continued to study him for a few minutes, even blurring my vision when my eyes moved across his name tag, not wanting to ruin the fantasy that I was sharing a train with my dad. "What would I say to him," I wondered.

Later in the same day, Emmelle and I waited at a subway station for a late-arriving train. The station filled quickly with waiting passengers, including a group of three teenage girls who stood near us. They were adorned in traditional school uniforms - white blouses, grey jumper dresses, white ankle socks, black marjanes (or some equivalent). They spoke in close quaters, and when I shifted my attention to them to eavesdrop on their huddled conversation, I couldn't hear anything but soft whispers and excited giggles. They continued to conspire on the moving train. Mischievous, innocently deviant. After the earlier encounter with my young father, I couldn't help but think that this could be my mom. "What would I say to her", I wondered.

...

I joked at the beggining of our trip to Emmelle that Seoul feels like a super-sized Los Angeles K-Town. It's my brain and my experience unconsciously making sense of where we are and what we are seeing. Lots of Koreans. Everywhere we go, signs are written in English, all people in the hospitality industry speak English (usually better than Koreans in LA). But now, I am chasing one monumental difference between this place and anywhere else in the world. My parents are very much present in this country. They are smoking on street corners, loitering in alley ways, they are even alive in the food I am eating.

They left their youth here. Literally and figuratively. And just as I am getting ready to embark on a new stage in my own life with Emmelle, perhaps this is where our paths fully converge. Youth meets youth just this once, and there is a great understanding just this once. Nine days are so short, and I am so envious of Colonel Mustard who spent six months here as an undergrad. Nevertheless, nine days is enough to place a piece of myself here as well to interact with in future visits.

Not-so-distant cousin.

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