Just Say No
Mood:  d'oh
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. What the heck happens the third time?

Koreans aren't known for their desserts or pastries. They just don't have that western sweet tooth. One popular "dessert" is deok. A friend of mine was raving about it so much that as soon as I got the chance I gleeful took a sample. I have no idea how she found it even remotely tasty. It was a flavorless chewy ball.

Deok is rice cake. Not the crunchy variety. I'm not sure of the exact method, but I would guess it involves over-cooking rice then compressing it into desired shape. Think of a rice flavored gummy bear and you've got your deok.

Often, it will come in a cute shape or pretty color. This is how I got burned the second time. I saw the colorful layered squares on a buffet table. They looked like petite four cakes. I knew what they were, but couldn't help myself from taking one. As soon as I bit into it I cursed myself for being so easily deceived.

Almost two years went by and I wasn't even so much as tempted to eat them. It was no problem for me to pass on the deok. Then a friend and I were at a grand opening. The business had a small reception table with (you guessed it) deok. The green and white balls sat neatly on trays. "Oh, those are the ones with brown sugar in them", he said. "Brown sugar", I thought. "I like brown sugar." So I took one. One bite into it and I began to rue my actions. He failed to tell me that the brown sugar was mixed with sesame oil. Sesame oil is okay for meat dishes, but doesn't go well with desserts. The flavor is too strong. Instead of complimenting the sweetness it overpowers it.

Thankfully, we were outside when I took the bite. It allowed my to spit it out in a ditch.

I'm No Betty Crocker
Mood:  d'oh
A while ago -- a long while ago, I got into a squash phase. Acorn, Spaghetti, Butternut....I was cooking them all. The first step is to bake it. You poke a few holes in it and pop in the oven for about 30 minutes -- too easy. One evening I decided to fix my dinner then put the squash in the oven to bake while I was eating. I'd finish preparing the squash dish after my dinner and have tomorrows dinner done. I like to pre-cook. It helps me stay away from the fast food joints on my busier days. But I digress....Somewhere between my first bite of dinner and washing the dishes I forgot all about the squash.

Going about my nightly routine I occasionally got a whiff of baking bread. Because it wasn't a strong or constant smell I figured it was coming from one of the other apartments. This should have been a big red flag because Koreans don't eat bread like Americans do. There's no way they'd be whipping up a batch of biscuits. As the evening progressed I kept smelling it. Going to bed I caught another whiff. I began to wonder if I had some sort of brain tumor. Don't stroke victims smell burning hair right before the stroke hits? What abnormality would make one smell biscuits, I pondered.

I couldn't take it any longer I had to find the source. I rose from bed and began wandering around my apartment inhaling deeply through the nostrils. Approaching the oven I took a big breath, then a gasp....THE SQUASH! Flinging open the oven door revealed a deflated spaghetti squash. The poor thing spent four hours baking away. It's once taut yellow rind was now wrinkly and caramel colored. Surprisingly, the inside was perfect! :-)

So tonight I got back on the squash kick. I put it in the oven and quickly proceeded to forget all about it. Once again I smelled the faint sent of bread baking. Once again I thought it was coming from another apartment.

Finally, the old grey matter woke up. MMM biscuits....What? NO! Not biscuits....SQUASH! I can't believe I did it AGAIN!!

This time it had only been about two hours in the oven. That's clearly progress. Although, an egg timer might not be a bad investment.

See You In Vancouver
Mood:  cool
The moguls...The aerials....The Super-G...Inspired by Olympic fever I decided to hit the slopes last weekend. Actually, the trip is somewhat of a family tradition. It's the second year in a row that the Korean clan has gone skiing over President's Day Weekend. Twice can be considered tradition, right? Anywho, the point is that since we work on a US Army base we get the typical American government holidays. So, while most of the Koreans have to head into the office, we get the day off.

The magnitude of this perk may get lost on my state-side friends. In a country where 45 million people are crammed into an area the size of Indiana, space is a premium. I have NEVER (no exaggeration) NEVER been outside alone. And I've walked these streets at all hours of the day or night. There's ALWAYS somebody else out there too.

This population density means that any attraction -- museum, park, resort, etc. is going to be packed on weekends. It's just a way of life here.

Saturday and Sunday on the slopes is less about "good powder" and more about dodging people. Night skiing helps the situation, but there is still a pretty good crowd.

It's a weekend trip for us, but it's really that third day that makes all the difference. Come Monday morning, that mountain is ours! No waiting for the lifts. Wide open runs. It's great!! As the day progresses the crowd picks up, but nothing like the weekend mass. Plus, most of them are condensed at the bottom. The upper runs remain spacious.

I could really tell an advancement in my skiing this year. Not only was I going down more difficult courses, but I was much more relaxed. On more than one occasion the phrase "I rule" crossed my mind. It was a great get-away. Colorado is looking better and better as a possible place to call home.

My Tip To You
Mood:  spacey
If you are wandering through your apartment and have your contacts in, you don't need to put on your glasses. Sometimes I forget. Ironically, instead of making your vision twice as good it tends to have the opposite effect. Luckily even though the shock will incapacitate you, there is still some part of your brain that wills the hand up to your head and rips the glasses off your face.

Super Bowl Monday
Mood:  party time!
Being 14 hours ahead of America’s east coast makes for some interesting adjustments. Telephone calls always require a math equation. The American TV shows we do get are rarely shown while they are being aired in the States. Think about it, seeing Katie, Matt, Al, and Ann just wouldn’t work while you’re getting ready for dinner.

One of the few exceptions, however, is The Super Bowl. We watch it in real time. Of course, that means Super Bowl Sunday becomes Super Bowl Monday (morning). Kick off time for us is around 8am. The clubs on base hold traditional parties complete with radio station broadcasts, door prizes, free food, contests…the whole 9 yards. Just trade your nachos and hot wings for some eggs and bacon.

I know what you’re thinking….”But it’s still Monday morning, people have to work.” No, they don’t. It’s a day off. Let me repeat that….They get the day off to watch the Super Bowl. I say “they” because there are still a few poor souls (myself included) that have to work. As luck would have it, though, I work in a building equipped with a teleconference room housing multiple 60 inch plasma screens. Breakfast is a pot luck and a few betting pools are coordinated. We rotate manning the phones and check email during commercials. It’s not a bad way to spend the morning.

And speaking of commercials, those don’t get aired. So Monday night I cracked open a beer, sat in front of my computer and critiqued the good, bad, and pointless. You got to love the internet! In the end I got everything someone in the States got – just with a twist.

Looking Good
Mood:  suave
So I go the beauty shop to get my hair colored and park my car in front of the restaurant next door. There doesn't appear to be any sign forbidding this, but taking into consideration Korea's arbitrary parking rules, I put my number on the dash just in case. Sure enough, right before I'm supposed to rinse my cellie rings.

With no other option, but to move my car, I head out into the street donning salon smock, hair completely lathered in dye. This is no ordinary street, mind you. It's the main drag leading to the base. And of course it's 6-ish on a week night so everyone and their brother is behind the wheel.

Getting to my car wasn't such a big deal. It was the 3 blocks back to the beauty shop that I was on the verge of busting a gut.

Call it maturity. Call it eccentricity. You've really reached a secure place in life when you can stroll the public streets in the middle of a beauty treatment. I'm thinking of applying a mud pack before I head into work tomorrow.

Keeper of the Cave
Mood:  special
There is a cave in Okinawa hidden amongst the tropical jungle. No signs mark the site. You won’t find it on any tourist map. Yet, despite it’s undisclosed location, there is a self appointed keeper of the cave. If you’re lucky enough to stumble upon the right dirt road he’ll be waiting for you. He speaks very little English, but enough to point out how the stalactites are shaped to resemble the Chinese zodiac signs. The man will enthusiastically lead you around outer sections of the cave which resembles separate foyer areas. Climbing through the different “rooms”, he’ll make note of small shrines. Some constructed to honor specific gods, while others were built in remembrance of those who died during World War II. During the war, Okinawan soldiers hid in caves like this one in order to draw the American troops further into the jungle. The cave continues deep into the hillside, exiting yards away from the shoreline. The guided tour consists only of the open entrance area. Once you pass into the cave’s first tunnel you’re on your own. A maze of pathways wind within and just one leads you to the exit. The only saving grace is the twine placed along the cave’s most direct path to freedom. You will, of course need a flashlight to find it. And since there will be tight spaces mandating belly crawling it’s wise to wear old clothes. I happened to be fortunate enough to be with someone who previously discovered the hidden gem so we were well prepared.

We climbed, ducked, twisted, and crawled our way through the tunnels. It was like being a kid again – when playing meant you got dirty, not a hand cramp from gaming too long. Parts of the cave were spacious enough to stand up and walk around. I’d shine my flashlight down off shoots and think about the soldiers that stood there so many decades ago. Tight with bodies, weapons and amo, they anticipated inevitable battle. Now, here I stood excited to be there, thinking about how much fun I was having. Funny how the same place can create such different experiences.

We made it to the other side of the cave and wandered through thick terrain back to the "tour guide." He gave us several sheets of notes he had been writing. We can only assume it to be a history of the cave as it was all in Japanese. He handed me a small tree limb explaining to cut it up and put it in water. It must be some sort of tea. I had so many questions for him, but no way to ask. How many years had he been sitting outside of that cave and why was it so important to him to be there? What made this cave different from all the others soldiers used during the war? How long must he go between visitors? As much as I wanted to know these things I also liked not knowing. It gave me the opportunity to make up my own story. His smile was pleasant and offered with ease. He obviously received joy from having visitors and being the site’s docent. Whatever journey that led him to this destiny clearly gave him peace. And that I loved.
Trip pictures HERE

Shakes Fist In Air
Mood:  irritated
I've spent over 2 years in this apartment. Water pressure has never been great, but it reached an all time low about a year ago. I'd be in the middle of a shower and the flow would reduce to barely a trickle. This would last about 10 seconds. On a few occasions the faucet would be bone dry for a good 30 seconds. At first review this seems very inconsequential. A mere blip in the system. But you'd be amazed at how frustration can skyrocket when you're staring at a non-running shower head, cold, wet, naked, and half soapy. I contacted the landlord and the repairman was quick to arrive. Of course since there was no set pattern to this nuisance all he saw was a steady stream of water coming out of the faucet. Then he gave me some lame excuse about all of the surrounding apartments using the same source of water and the pressure fluctuating under heavy use. I pictured little gnomes dumping buckets of water into funnels attached to a hose. Each hose leading directly to a specific apartments. The poor little guys just couldn't keep up with demand.

My only option was to move. My lease was coming up soon, but I just couldn't bare the thought of hauling my junk across town. Sure I'd get the pressure I craved, but I might also get a lousy heating system. What if the kid that lived above me played the violin -- poorly, despite the endless hours of practice? What if every timed it rained my windows leaked? I decided to stay with the devil I knew instead of going to the devil I didn't know. I mean, how bad is it really? Most of the time my showers have water. I can deal with this tiny glitch.

Months pass. I get more irate with every paused bathing. Only now along with getting pissed at the landlord and the water system I'm upset with myself. I had the chance to get out, but am stuck with another year of this.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Several upgrades have been going on around the building. All of which I'm sure have been provided by overcharging their American tenant. Still, it's nice to see the improvements. One evening I turned on the kitchen faucet. It spit and sputtered. This was a new twist. I'd come accustomed to the lackadaisical trickle. I didn't know my faucets had the energy to talk back. Later, the shower choked and gagged much like the kitchen faucet had. Then out came an aquatic force I'd only seen in vacation videos of Niagara Falls. That's what those guys were doing with all those pipes when they tore up my driveway. It was all making sense now. I excitedly hopped into the shower. There was so much water pressure I didn't even need to turn it on full blast! It was fabulous!! This feeling of euphoria lasted about 3 seconds. My thoughts went back to anguish. Why hadn't they fixed this when I brought it to their attention?! I could hear a faint voice inside me say, "Look at the bright side. At least you have the water pressure now. Think positively. Go to your happy place." But grumpy Cynthia couldn't be convinced. "My happy place?!? I could have been there over a year ago if someone had followed through on my request! It's too late. I've set up camp in Complain County and I'm not moving."

Thankfully, I've mellowed since then. I appreciate all of the conveniences afforded by modern industry -- plumbing, heat, electricity, internet connection. Just don't take them away. :-P

And a Vodka for the Comrade
Mood:  a-ok
The first 2 months in Korea I bounced from 3 different cities living in hotels. Part of that time I was working on a special project needing 24 hour support. As low man on the totem pole I got the 6pm - 6am shift. After a long day's (uh, night's) work I'd walk about 20 minutes back to my hotel. It was located in a district that catered to tourists -- lots of hotels, night clubs, restaurants, and souvenir shops. Occasionally I'd see a few die hard partiers stumbling out of a dark bar astonished that the sun had actually risen. For the most part it was a peaceful stroll. One morning I noticed 2 guys that weren't sloppy drunk, but had clearly been out at the clubs. They definitely weren't Korean and didn't look like US military guys. As I got closer one of them said something to me in a language I didn't' recognize. So I gave him the wide eyes, smile and shoulder shrug to indicate, "sorry pal, I have no idea what you just said." He friend muttered something and then chatty Cathy says, "Oh Ahmerlican, sorlly." I had to laugh. Several Russians live in that area. The women dance or are hostesses at the clubs. I'm not sure what the men do -- mafia maybe. Anywho, I guessed that they assumed I was Russian. On second thought, what about my conservative office-casual attire says Russian Club Dancer? I chalked it up to blurry vision caused by too many vodkas and bright sun.

Finally moving into an apartment in Taegu was great. It meant an end to suitcase living and restaurant eating. Carrying my stuff into the new homestead I saw a Westerner. He could have been American, maybe Canadian, perhaps British? I gave a smile. He barely acknowledged my presence. Great, an ugly American. No potluck invites for him. A few days later I go into my new job location only to see the ugly American. Yup, he worked for the same company as me. About a month later while out with my co-workers he confessed that when he first saw me he thought, "hey ahdeshi (Korean man) has gotten himself a little Russian chic." What? Again with the Russian thing? I chalked this up to the fact that being a single white woman in Korea is somewhat rare, especially in the neighborhood I was living in. And he was kind of an idiot.

Then last week I was ridin' the Seeeoooouuuuul train. My seat was next to a Korean woman I guessed to be in her 40's. We struck up a conversation. My Korean is pretty pathetic and her English was minimal, but we managed. She asked where I'm originally from. I told her I'm American. She said I look (you guessed it) Russian.

I give up. Third time is a charm. I'm not sure what characteristics make up the Russian face, but apparently I've got them.

Back in Korea
Mood:  energetic
So much for for avoiding jet-lag. This was by far the worst trip regarding flight recovery. Just as the internal clock was getting adjusted I began battling a cold. Thankfully, it didn't slow me down too much. Besides those 2 minor inconveniences, it was a really good vacation. My plan for this trip was pretty simple. I just wanted to take it easy, hang out with friends and family, shop, and eat at some restaurants we don't have in Korea. I'm happy to report I accomplished all my goals. In the past when I've gone back to the US there was such a rushed feeling to the visit. I spent so much of the time doing what other people wanted me to do that it wasn't much a vacation. Several of my friends here have had the same experience. It's a hard trap to avoid. I stood my ground this time, though and was selfish with my itinerary. When I got back to work I actually felt rested. Hmm, go on vacation and feel refreshed when you get back -- what a concept!