Unfinished Business

Usually, that's a title that rings ominously of reasons to remain here rather than proceed to the afterlife. I don't mean it quite so direly, it is just pretty accurate if taken only at face value.

I left Korea on the 20th of December, 2010, and I miss it very much. I have the rest of my oegukin day to relate, so we'll start there, then move on to singing Messiah, getting stuck in Shanghai, and the chain of unlikely events that has brought me to be writing this from my hotel room in Brussels, Belgium.

Back to Oegukin Day! or Il Est Beau Comme Le Seoul, Eh?*

After the museum (oh, culture!) H and I subwayed (it's like sashaying, but on public transportation) over to Gwanghwamun, in central Seoul. Gwanghwamun is a part of Seoul that really feels like a big city: skyscrapers, large public monuments, the works. There is a big gate and some sculpture stuff, and many people, getting Culture. While there, we popped into a different museum (!) - don't worry, just the café part - and had lunch. It was very tasty, and H got us tickets on the tour bus while we were waiting for a seat, so really, an all-around win. The bus departed from across the large boulevard from the café, so after we ate, we moseyed over and waited for departure. It was...  brisk. Luckily, we were distracted from comparing goosebumps by the changing of the guard. I'm still not totally sure what they were guarding, but there were definitely guards, and they changed. It was a whole big thing, with period costumes, halberds with flags attached, and a processional with drum. I am a bad photo-blogger for not having pictures, but it was a thing worth seeing in person, and if I had the chance again, I'd go to see it on purpose and everything.

The bus was a comfortable coach affair with headsets for all, explanations of the various sites being made available in English, French, Korean, Japanese, and Chinese. (I tested my various languages against the English version and have determined that my Korean is still terrible, my Chinese is only marginally better, and my French is... actually, pretty okay. Just don't ask me to write anything down in it). The tour was an inundation of information about the various sites we passed. There were markets and architectural wonders and museums and parks and towers and gates and train stations and things. H threatened to test me on them later, but was too nice to follow through on that, thank God. We hopped off at Namsan (남산) Park to go up the tower, something everyone must do if they want to get Tourist Cred in Seoul. It looks like this (in fact, this photo was taken at about the same time of day we got there, so it is quite accurate):

Okay, I showed you that one (which I got from Google) so you wouldn't get only the impression that our photo gives, that we were at some Korean Tower of Terror:

I promise it is not this creepy in real life.

The thing it's most famous for is the view from the top, of the city. It has a well-deserved reputation for being a beautiful sight.

The first picture is very city-ish, and even reminds me of photos I took from the then-Sears Tower in Chicago. The dark bits on the bottom and a bit on the right are the flanks of the mountain on which the tower stands. It's a park, and in the daytime (and the spring) it's very lovely. Take my word for it. This second picture I like because it shows (a bit) the travel arteries of the city.

Don't judge me, man, this is what a cell phone can do. THERE ARE LIMITS.

Okay, it wasn't a tower of terror, but we took a ride on the cable car, which goes down to a restaurant about halfway down the mountain and comes back up. It was dark. There was a breeze. There was rocking. There was... unhappiness. Mostly from me. Only from me. There is video of my quiet panic, but it is not uploading well, so you will just have to use your imagination. It was soon over, and I was back to my usual gravitas in no time. (H, back me up!)

After Namsan, we hopped back on the bus (actually a different bus, but the same company and setup) and rode until we got to Insadong (인사동) a shopping/market-y area known for having a) lots of stuff, and b) no signs in English. Thank God H was there. So much disaster averted. (Seriously, there was a Starbucks there that was signed in Korean: 스타벅스. That was the end of things I could understand alone).

Insadong is centered around a nice pedestrian street with vendors of all kinds of things. Several of the shops could rightly be deemed tourist traps, but escorted by a native, I was relatively safe. I did stop at an art shop and buy a few brush paintings as gifts (it being quite close to Christmas). A few doors down from that, there was a courtyard off the main road, and a building surrounding it that was sort of like an ascending mall. It was as though a branch of the road had split off and curled up like a stem, sprouting little shops along it. I forget what it was called, but it's a nifty place, and one with a higher standard of quality than some of the more questionable street establishments. It is mostly small shops overseen by actual craftsmen, making things right there in front of you, in some cases.

Despite its high quality of goods sold, it was not immune to the lure of somewhat tawdry seasonal decorations:

This was taken from the third level up. These snowmen are floating over the main courtyard. I enjoy that the middle one has glasses. 

Also, I am actually a flower fairy.

For those who did not want to ramp up and down, there were shortcuts in the form of stairs. I am in the second picture to give it scale. 

 While there, I found several other Christmas gifts, including a ceramic lamp (no genie when rubbed, alas) and a personalized chop (stamp like the one I got, but much nicer). We also stopped at a couple of shops with... less promise.

For science!

The guys below were making a Korean traditional sweet whose name I can't remember (and if I could, I can't guarantee I could spell or pronounce it right), which is made from honey, some kind of starchy thing (tapioca?) and 7 kinds of nuts. It manages to make you feel healthy while tasting like a Butterfinger, so a win all around.

I bought a box of them as another gift for my family, but the real gift part was the video I got of them doing their patter - in English! This connection is all kinds of weak, so it's not uploading well, but I will send it to anyone who wants a copy.  (Totally worth the few minutes it will take you to watch it).

That was pretty much the day. We headed back to Daejeon, feeling cultured and somewhat better prepared for the holidays.

*What up, Mr. Shee!

Reveling in my Oegukery

This is my photographic masterpiece, called, "It was Very Early. And Cold."

A 외국인, or 外(國)人 in Korea is a foreigner (literally, outside-country person). Last weekend, I embraced that part of my Korean identity, with the help of my Korean friend H from work (and of bamboo forest fame). We headed up to Seoul at what seemed a distinctly unnatural hour of the morning on Saturday, there to do the things that tourists do. We started our day at a museum in an effort to be cultured, and Internet, boy were we cultured! We got three hours of cultured. (H has a fancy phone, which takes quite nice photos, and she is something of a photo hound, so there are rather more pictures of myself on this day than I absolutely like or planned for. Apologies all around). First we saw the sculpture outside the museum proper.







Then we spent some very necessary time in the museum café.

Perhaps it is not so bad as all that.

Morning is the devil's time.

I will drown my sorrows.

The museum was architecturally very swanky, and had boatloads of both traditional and modern art. Museum 1 (which reflects a saddening lack of creativity on the part of the curators, I feel), was our first destination. We flashed our tickets at their fancy ticket-reading machine and took an elevator to the 4th floor, through which we wandered, ogling pottery of the distinctive green whose name I have now forgotten but is a tell-tale sign of ancient Koreans artists at work. The technique of making it has sadly been lost, but about 800 years ago, they had it down real well and made some extraordinary pottery.  One doesn't really fancy them for immediate contextualization in the modern home, but they are very pretty. Once completed the circuit of display cases, we found ourselves in one of the museum's famed architectural spaces.


It feels very like being in a sci-fi movie with heavy-handed genetic symbolism.

If I could be an enzyme, I'd be DNA helicase... just kidding. Obviously, I'm much more of an Adenine.


Anyway, we went around and down this to the next floor, which was full of white pottery from a slightly different era. Not to knock the work of guys who can pot much better than I could ever hope to, but these were very different in aesthetic, to the tune of looking like they'd been painted by zealous elementary schoolers, rather than adults with artistic inclinations. Old pots. What are you gonna do?






Below the pots were scrolls and paintings. The particular exhibit up at the time was for a famous brush artist whose name escapes me at the moment, but who did some awesome work. I love screens and brush paintings in general, and these were very neat to look at. There were a few that surprised both H and myself - they were apparently Korean brushwork answers to the Kama Sutra, displayed right along next to nice mountain scenes totally devoid of human life. They were... different.

After paintings, we got into nifty metalwork and the fancy science of the day, namely bells and locks involving bars you slid across doors to keep bad people out. There were gold slippers, beautiful wrought things of tremendous complexity in their design, that seem utterly un-fun to wear in every way. I believe them to have come from the mind of one of my sister's previous incarnations. Her present one tells me we all suffer to be beautiful, and I can think of nothing else that so well embodies that sentiment.

That finished off the first Museum, and we moved on to Museum 2, the abode of the modern art. A great deal of modern art fails to speak to me, generally, and I had about the same ratio of success to failure of appeal here that I have experienced elsewhere. There was a really interesting piece that was nothing but an enormous case with a mirrored back on the wall, about two inches deep, filled with little shelves on which were arrayed all manner of pills. Each was a real-life replica cast in resin. It's kind of unsettling to see how many pills we've created and that people take, especially knowing some of them are things like Viagra. It brings the concept of Big Pharma home in a pretty visceral way. There were a few other pieces that were interesting, but the best part was definitely Museum 3, where we came upon some awesome new stuff.

I... I just thought this was funny. The awesome is below.

This is actually a sculpture, made from hundreds, maybe thousands, of photographs all varnished onto an underlying sculpted form. There were several different such forms around the open floor of Museum 3, all of them landing somewhere close to the Uncanny Valley, but in a cool way.













In another part of the exhibit not seen here, there was a poster on the wall that said, "New Year's Resolution: less biting." Art, man, it's crazy. This shiny fellow had some fantastic insights on the artistic process.








This was a cool thing on the wall that didn't photograph wonderfully. Enjoy!

Man, that was a lot of art. We couldn't take a lot of photos of the other art outside of Museum 3, but if you want to check out the museum further, you can peruse what it's willing to put up on its site.


I'm seeing that this is really long, so I'm going to make a different post for the other stuff of the day. It's markedly less artisty and more touristy.

Raising Funds, Hating Hostels

The second weekend I was up in the great frozen north (Seoul to my Daejeon, that will only refer to Canada when I am back in the States), there was no rehearsal, just a fundraiser for the choir on Saturday night, and me helping a choir friend move her newly-adopted cat from Itaewon to the pseudo suburb she lives in south of Seoul. I chose to stay in a hostel this time, rather than brave the restless natives at R's apartment.

The fundraiser was loud and musical, and a good time was had by most, though the MC crossed the lines of both decency and common sense a few too many times for my taste. What do I know, though, I grew up under Plymouth rock. My sense of humor is... attuned differently. Anyway, we worked and earned money and that was good. At around 2 a.m., two friends from Daejeon and I taxi'd over to the hostel. We were all abed around 3 (not wholly unusual for people on hagwon time) and thought not too much of it.

At 7 a.m., the whooping cacophony of disturbed cormorants woke me. At least, that's what I assumed it to be. I have never heard anything quite so shriek-some as seabirds when disturbed, but the actual cause of the noise gave the seagulls a run for their money. It was a toddler. ("Man often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it" and all that. Ha, Universe. Ha. And, just because you're special: ha.) Apparently, a whole family (3 generations, all rabbit's friends and relations, etc., etc.) was in the room two doors down from us. Several of the people in said family were under 3 feet in height and astonishingly vocal. The repeated cry of the local species was a variant on the Korean omma-will (like the whippoorwill, but louder). This child was one of the same species R is raising, which almost whispers the "om" and then bugles the "MA!" Their m.o. is to run with frantic, stompy tread as fast as they can, a horrific tattoo dopplering past the doors of those trying to sleep. Once at the end of the hallway, they stand facing back down the way they came, and release their piercing cry, "omMA!" (Korean for "mother"). There really isn't a font size differential big enough to impart the sense of impending apocalypse this cry brings out in the unwary.

To address this un-neighborly display, I executed the Zombie Shuffle. I am not the most graceful person I know, and my coordination (such as it is) is not in peak form at ungodly hours of the morning. Apparently the omMA who beheld me shambling the shamble of the undead was sufficiently concerned that I might sate my obvious and unholy hunger for living flesh with her children, and she put them away. Hallelujah, indeed.

Don't people know that hostels are for university students and serial killers? What a world we live in, internet.

After the hostel, I had to meet my soon-to-be-cat-owning friend in Itaewon at 11:30 or so, and we, after a lot more hills than I thought were entirely necessary, collected the cat and its 50 pounds of baggage (mostly two enormous containers of litter) and hopped on the subway. The cat, having infinitely better manners than any of the human offspring of my recent acquaintance, was wholly silent throughout the entire hour-plus journey. The kitty litter itself was less well behaved, making a frantic bid for freedom down the stairs in the station where we had to transfer. Naturally, it was the open container, so on landing at the bottom of the steps, it deposited a great deal of its contents, making a tiny ski slope for the weary commuter. As though we had not gotten enough stares for being white and in Seoul and carrying a cat-carrier, we were now the founders of Mount Litterloaf. The nice people selling walnut cakes at the top of the stairs lent us their broom, though, and we soldiered on.

At long last, cat and accoutrements arrived in... well, wherever we were going. It's a nice area, and J (my friend) has an apartment much nicer than mine. The cat was phenomenal. She was totally silent the whole way there, and as soon as she was freed from her carrier, she was right at home. She was like a dog. She sniffed everything and then rolled over on the floor, demanding attention for her not-so-noble girth. She is a low-maintenance lady. Once happily ensconced, we left her to dominate the house while we headed back to Seoul proper for a friend's birthday party, which was delicious in every way, and then I took a train home, which is a mercifully baby-free zone. Huzzah!

Distractions, of the 200 round variety

I'm not sure if or when this will make it into the US news cycle, but North Korea fired on South Korea today, a few hours ago now. It's making it difficult for me to concentrate on my work. They fired on an island off the western coast, an area long contested between the two countries. North Korea fired 200 rounds of artillery at the island and its surrounding waters, and South Korea fired back 80 rounds and sent a couple of jets up. 14 military personnel and two civilians have been reported injured, two of the military guys critically so.

I don't know anyone on the island, but I do know people in Seoul, which is frighteningly close to the border. One of my best friends in this country is in the U.S. military, stationed in Seoul, and another friend is in the Korean military (C, of C-is-a-soldier fame). I do not even know how much I should worry right now, but knowing how much not to rarely helps anyway. This news comes hard on the heels of reading articles all about uranium enrichment capabilities being higher than expected in the North. Oddly, I do not feel the confluence of these two news issues is terribly calming, nor helpful to me in getting a working memo on the winter intensive courses completed. The other teachers, however, are just going about their days, laughing at things, planning classes, acting normal. It is the foreign teachers who are all clicking over to CNN every few minutes, checking the CIA world factbook to find out how many troops North Korea actually has, and if we would know if they mobilized, talking about whether China will really get into this hardcore, or if they'll just maintain a kind of lend-lease agreement with the North. Maybe we are just alarmists. I hope we are just alarmists.

In the interests of full disclosure, part of me just wondered if I will be able to get home in less than a month. The airport from which I am scheduled to fly is right up to the west of Seoul. I kind of miss the built-in geographic security of having oceans between me and potential-or-declared-enemy powers, and I really don't want an active warzone to get between me and that security in the next twenty-eight days.

So hi, Internet. These are my thoughts. Now I'm going to go talk about team-building exercises for students.

So much Seoul

I overnighted in Seoul for two weekends in a row, and after the summer of Pirates, that was just too much. I shouldn't have to do it again until the weekend of my departure, so I guess that's all right, but boy, it makes me feel old to have to say I'm not down with it. Here is my harrowing tale of adventure from the first of the two.

I'd planned to go to Everland (a big amusement park up near Seoul) on Saturday and just stay into Sunday for rehearsal, maybe burn a few DVD's of Pirates that night. As it turned out, the Everland trip kind of fell apart at the last minute (a bunch of people cancelled and it was going to rain), but I had a place to stay and I needed to go to a place in Seoul (Yongsan) to get double-layer DVD's so I could burn Pirates and get it off my computer for once and for all (calloo callay). So I took an evening train on Saturday, made it to Yongsan, got DVD's, had dinner with a friend, and went to my director's new apartment to stay the night.

Director R has a baby. Perhaps it is a toddler. It toddles. It does not speak coherently, so I call it a baby. The baby, like all babies, is the devil. Also, it hates me. I guess I could should call it a "she." We do not have a working relationship. She is definitely her father's child, as such small lungs could otherwise not possibly produce the mind-shattering shriek she lets out at the slightest provocation (read: none whatsoever). To add a shiny bow on this package of drooling charm, she bit me. I was trying to prevent her from first sticking her finger between the magnetically attached part of my power plug and my computer (which would have resulted in a shock, as the other side of it was still connected and electricity does not discriminate well between drool-soaked-baby-finger and other conducting materials), then from touching the very-hot transformer leading to said plug, and then from pulling a glass of wine off a shelf onto her head. Apparently, for frustrating her plans, my finger had to be sacrificed to the sharp-toothed demon of child entitlement. Next time, I'm just going to let her zap herself.  It will be educational. (Some day, I imagine I will have a better working relationship with children under 12, but at the moment, my plan is to donate all the ones I find to my sister, and she can ship me all the adolescents she doesn't get on with).

Anyway, Shrieky McShrieksalot All the Time with the Shrieking was up the next morning at what seemed to me the crack of dawn (I lead a very decadent lifestyle, as you know, dear reader), and she used her increasing mobility (which, at a walk, I must admit is way better than the creepy tripod crawl thing she used to do, during which I could only imagine her holding a cleaver and giggling maniacally) to walk over to the sofa on which I was sleeping, yank the covers off my head, and poke me with her frigid, razor sharp claws of death. (That child has no sense of personal space. Respect the bubble, kids).  I'm sure I was eloquent and distinguished and made my position on her actions clear in grammatically correct and stylistically enviable prose. Actually, I'm pretty sure I said something regrettable at that moment, but I don't actually remember the exact words. One can only hope the baby will not, either.

So that was my Saturday night into Sunday. I was not the most rested I have ever been during rehearsal, and afterwards, I helped a friend help another friend with an English thing he needed some help on, and he bought us dinner for our trouble, which was nice, and eventually I collected my things and escaped from the hellion with no further damage to my person or equipment. Huzzah!

Running Rampant and Unchecked

(The subject of the titular verb is "sociology." The unchecked part implies that nothing so mundane as an education in the field checks my curiosity and speculation).

A few weeks ago, an ex-student of mine invited me to his school concert, and it was such an experience that I have at least two, perhaps three blog posts to publish as a result. This is the first, and it is pretty much awesome about Korea's support for the arts in schools.

The kids I saw were doing music and dance stuff with their whole school all day. Their teachers and administrators attended and supported them, and it was like a party for the performing arts. Coming as I do from a country that seems to cut budgets for the arts every month, it was wonderful to see all the students rocking out, many of them dancing.

First of all, it was a side of them I very rarely get to see. My students spend all the time I see them in class doing (home)work, taking tests, or falling asleep while they're supposed to be doing one of the other two. I work for a hagwon, so there's not really the geographic cohesion that other teachers have, which makes it likely that they'll see their students on off-days, out and about and being normal. I hear, sometimes, about their extracurricular lives, but I have only seen two students out in the world in all the time I've been here (now three, but only by invitation, and it was at a school function).  So it was great to see them not just doing something non-academic, but having such a good time. Those who weren't performing were cheering wildly and having fun of their own. Some people had made a video for in between sets that showed all the different groups preparing their stuff, which was fun to watch, even for me (though I didn't understand it, it met all the requirements of such things: exaggerated movements, fun pop music as background, sped up dancing of a ridiculous nature, teachers acting silly with their students). It was nice to know that somewhere in their hectic lives, they are having fun.

Two, many of them are very talented, and it was awesome just to be in the audience! I was especially impressed by the dancing, which was not part of my performing or observing experience in high school. Several groups and one notable individual performed very demanding routines, and many of them were boys. Perhaps it has been only my experience, but in that, the gender divide in the West does not encourage this quite the same way. There was a particularly fantastic group from the second grade of the middle school (about 8th or 9th grade US, I think) who were five boys, four of whom acted as puppets and the fifth who was the marionette master. It was remarkable. They were extremely coordinated and athletic, and the crowd loved it. Maybe now, if I were back in the States, I'd see us doing more of this as talent shows on t.v. become more popular and star more dancers, but when I was their age, that was... uncommon. I'm happy to see performance doing so well here as a part of kids' experience in school.

My student is a guitarist and was on last, performing with his bandmates two songs, a K-pop number I actually know and like (!) and an American song (surprise!). There were some technical difficulties, but generally, I thought they did very well. (The music bits reminded me a lot of pops concerts at my high school, so that part was sort of expected - but they did REALLY well!)

The sociological component to all this that burst out of me so forcefully that I found myself taking notes during the concert (you can take the student out of the U of C, but...) has to do with gender relations, double standards, and what constitutes "sexy" versus "sexual" across cultures. It's a bit of a jumble and I'm still putting it together (some stuff got in the way of my together-putting, which I will talk about in a different, totally unrelated blog post, soon!) but as soon as I have something worth committing to... screen (?) I will have it up here.

A Lack of Swords

Last Saturday, my coworkers P and H and I (that's a first-person pronoun, not the initial of one of my coworkers) went on an adventure. We had meant to go zip-lining, and planned for it, even. We met at the bus station, ready to clamber aboard and endure 2 and a half hours of busing so long as it meant we could make Tarzan noises to ourselves as we hurtled through the forest canopy. It occurred to us when we were all together waiting for our bus, to call and be sure we didn't need something like a reservation at the place in question. For the record, dear readers, you should check that before the day you intend to go. They were full up through the month of October. Since we were already at the bus station, we exchanged glances, shrugged collectively, and decided to try somewhere different. I've put in a jump because this is very long. Go ahead and click it to see many photos and hear tales of great wonder and bold adventuring.

Abysmal, Beastly, Contemptible, Damnable, Epic Failure*

Long ago, I was a Pirate King. I'm retired now, but it was a heady time for a young and foolish adventurer. The video records of this wild time were mine to cherish, edit and burn to DVD (you know, like you do when you're a Pirate King. That's what makes it glorious). It cannot be denied that I wallowed in the deep well of placidity that comes from confidence in both oneself and one's machine in turning out a relatively terrific product in quite a short time. There was pride. I'm sure from the title you've guessed there was also a fall. If all you need know is that danger befell, know it and move on with your life. For those interested in the gory technical details, they are available after the jump.

Surprise!

Again, I apologize for relaying events so long after they happen, but they just keep happening, and I keep getting behind them.

Several weeks ago, I awoke to a pounding on my door. Usually, this heralds the Gas Lady, who comes to trot briskly and non-judgmentally through my apartment to the laundry room where the gas meter lives and figure out how much I owe for the month. She invariably comes several hours before what I consider decent awake time, so I am not always at my intellectual best when she arrives. This explains why I was not really thinking about what day it was (not the Feast of Our Lady of Gas). I did my best impression of the restless undead (moaning, shambling), over to the door, opening it to discover not the Gas Lady, but Dr. P (now so called to differentiate him from my coworker, P who is not a doctor). There was surprise, as Dr. P was supposed to be in Chicago, land from whence I came. There was also great rejoicing.

Sadly, I had no vacation time, but Dr. P is a good sport and just sort of bobbled along with whatever the schedule dictated. He also has impressive talents as a mule. Those of you looking to smuggle fine food items into or out of any number of countries should look him up. Along with the fantastic gift of bringing himself across the world, he came with a full backpack of pesto, cheese (fresh mozzarella, Camembert, and haloumi), Genoa salami, and maple syrup. If you, in your culinary exploits, have never had any of the things on this list, you, dear reader, are deprived. If you, in your life experience, have never had anyone arrive unexpectedly and amazingly on your doorstep when you are far away, not unlike Santa Clause with a bag of loot, you should consider it. It is not a bad way to wake up.

Dr. P was able to stay for just 10 days, three of which we spent in Seoul, as I had to be there anyway for our German concert (Brahms' Liebeslieder Waltzer). It comes to my attention now that I have extremely few photos from his time here (partly because I ran around like a crazy person, and partly because I'm bad at doing photos properly). I believe he has a few, in disparate digital locations (Dr. P is a notorious gadget fiend), and if he sends them to me, I will be happy to share them with you. For now, revel in these lovely photos from the historical site quite near where we stayed and where the concert was held.


 This one is of the name of the gateway, which I forget, but it involves "dae" at the beginning and "mun" at the end. This quite formidable gate and its wall (you can see a person at the bottom left for scale) surrounded a palace complex that we toured around. Just for fun, I picked up the Chinese guide, and Dr. P (who is Taiwanese) picked up the English guide. The arty, off-putting angle of this shot is really just to get the whole breadth of it in one try, as my phone camera is actually quite small.


This is the corner of the gateway. The detail on the eaves is really fantastic. The colors are brilliant and the designs complicated. Somehow, I think in terms of heavy beams and both aesthetic and functional carving, it reminds me of the little I've seen of Pacific Northwest Native American architecture. The color scheme, however, is entirely different, much more toward the green end of things, which may explain why I like it so much...




This last one shows the ceiling for those going through the gate. It, too, is very ornate in a way that would look Baroque if in a slightly different context, but here seems to work. This part, unlike the eaves, reminds me of the ceiling of a mosque in Toledo, which has very similar inscribed-circles-in-a-grid patterns.

 Anyway, Dr. P's visit was a very lovely surprise, though I wish I'd had more time to slow down and enjoy it, and I hope all of you are shortly (or have been recently) the recipients of equally wonderful unexpected things.

Thousands of Words

Lo these many months ago, I said rash things. Vast overstatements of the intimacy of my relationship with phones and cameras and the internet. Promises were made, only to be dashed on the rocks of my photographic ineptitude.
Today, however, is a day of great rejoicing, for I have slain the Blue-toothed dragon and retrieved photographic evidence that I am not actually making this all up from a basement apartment I secretly live in. I couldn't really figure out where these shots should go into previous entries, so I'm just going to dump a bunch of them with little explanations of what they are. From now on, I will try to be more orderly.

This particular photo dump will be from vacation with Mom in Busan:

This is a night view of the beach we stayed on, Haeundae (해운대). We had great timing which landed us in the midst of our vacation just during monsoon season, so we did not compete with anyone for this space, which is the most popular beach in a popular beach town. Admittedly, for beaching in high beach fashion, we might have chosen a different time, but it was lovely and uncrowded.

This is the stream/waterfall you cross to get to Beomeosa (버머사), a temple in Busan to which we went. It's pretty high up on a mountain, which you climb in a rickety bus on a very narrow road, so you are glad to get to the top and have a place specially designed for the finding of peace! One thing I'm particularly sorry I couldn't seem to get a shot of is the population of magpies. They have an ignominious reputation and name, but they are very pretty birds, and they were flitting all through here, far too fast for my phone camera to capture or do justice to them.

This is the view from the top of Beomeosa, looking at surrounding mountains of about the same height. The roofs (of which I got more pictures, but with which I shall not bore you) were straight out of the movie Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, and I kept looking across them, hoping to spot a gravity-defying ninja type monk. I didn't see any (but that just means they're doing it right).

This is a frog doorstop at the temple. It is hard to see, but it looks very happy and expectant, just as you'd want someone to look who's holding a door for you. Sadly, the door in question has a painting of a ferocious, sword-wielding demon on it, so it's a bit of a mixed message, but I don't consider that the frog's fault.