Bali or Bust

Jet-setting to Indonesia

Because I know most people don't like to read long blog entries, I thought I would offer this alternative to my travelogue:

*Top 10 Reasons Bali Kicks Ass*
1. Sun
2. Water
3. Silence
4. Nature
5. Motorbikes
6. Balinese massages
7. Grilled prawns in garlic butter sauce*
8. Bintang
9. Friendly Balinese
10. Motorbikes!

*Number 7 may only apply to those living in countries where finding these meals is impossible, like, say, South Korea.*

For those of you interested in more details, read on...

Ahhh- vacation. Sweet, sweet release. Some people may think it's weird and not a justifiable desire... I hear some people say, "Why do YOU need a vacation? You're living in South Korea!" Well, folks, that's exactly why I need a vacation! Seriously, working here is just like working at home, but with a few additional stresses... you know, given the different culture, language, and food and all.

This is my first vacation since the summer I went to the Florida Keys with my family when I was 11. Some of you may question that statement, countering that I've traveled many places throughout the years...True enough, but "travel" is the keyword... I've never vacationed. Trips have always been more like work in terms of schlepping around with a backpack and hitting the streets trying to find cheap hostels, cheap eats, and cheap entertainment. This trip to Bali was different; I simply schlepped my backpack from the airport to the (first) pre-booked hotel and enjoyed the ride there.

Although there were a few cultural things I wanted to experience in Bali, my primary goal was to re-lax. I simply wanted to vedge on a sun-drenched beach, soaking up all the Jimmy Buffett tunes and sunrays that I could handle. My basic "to-do" list looked like this:

• Read
• Reflect
• Write
• Read more
• Write more than that
• Get out of my head
• Repeat

Of course, nothing goes according to plan, but I did get a fair amount of reading in, some writing done, and even managed to do some reflecting. Getting out of my head proved to be harder, though.

And while I did accomplish those pre-determined to-do tasks, Bali went something more like this...

After an hour-long delay while on the plane, my Garuda Indonesia aircraft departed Seoul. With an empty seat next to me, I nestled into the flight like a baby curling into her mother's cradled arm, sighed, closed my eyes, and settled in for the seven-hour ride. Descending into Bali, I caught my first sunset over the Indian Ocean. I was disappointed not to have been on the beach with a Bintang in hand, but I was happy to at least catch a little bit of the spectacle.

From the air:


From the tarmac:


Typical of southeast Asia, touts were waiting to pounce on any unassuming visitors fresh off the plane. Thankfully, the airport has an "official" taxi service to shuttle you to your final destination, though that certainly doesn't stop other touts and drivers from offering "transport" -- at a much inflated price.

The number one thing I found the most overwhelming on first arriving was understanding conversations around me! Bali is to Australians as the Carribbean and Hawaii are to Americans. English was spoken everywhere; I understood side conversations, and my sense of hearing went on overload. It felt like I'd just emerged from a six-month stay in a silent bubble. You might think I'd be happy to understand what was happening around me. You'd be wrong, though. I'll be honest, it was slightly offensive to my ears. I'm so used to blocking out "background" noise in Korea that I didn't know what to do with shit I could understand!

**Sidenote: The other two things that I found the most foreign were the complete darkness of the rooms (in SoKo, neon lights stream into my studio apartment, making the concept of a "dark" room comical), and the silence... I could hear birds chirps, geckos croak (do geckos croak??), and other animals of nature exist peacefully. It was surreal. It was the loudest silence I've ever experienced.**

After dumping my luggage off at the *beachside* hotel, I sauntered onto the beach and walked the edge of the surf for an undetermined amount of time reveling in the disbelief that I was in BALI! Finally, I made my way back to the hotel, stopping to sit on a lounge chair when a Balinese man approached me, asking for a "light"... After assuring me he was a "good guy" (because, certainly, if a guy says he's one of the good ones, he MUST be, right?), we sat and chatted for an hour. Turns out he works on the beach and does tourist-related stuff to earn his income. So, I hired him to take me around the island the following day on his motorbike.

FYI: If you're on an island, like, say, Bali, going by motorbike is the ONLY way to go. Not only is it super fun, it's the most efficient. When traffic backs up, you (or your driver) weaves in and out the stuck cars :)

I *heart* motorbikes




Safety First


We had a long day; it started beautifully at Ulu Watu, a temple dedicated to the spirits of the sea, and then we headed to Dreamland. Dreamland is this hyped-up "best" beach, that, in my opinion, doesn't live up to its reputation. About two hours in, the clouds unleashed periods of pounding rain, forcing us to pull over a few times, but I absolutely welcomed the break because as much as I love motorbikes, my ass can only take it for about an hour at a time!

Ulu Watu


As we made our way north, I saw the deepest rice paddy in Bali:


Further north, I visited Gunung Batur, an active volcano, and its sidekick lake -Danau Batur. I was pretty disappointed at first as the area was covered in mist and fog when Toto and I first arrived. But after 30 minutes, it dissipated and I was able to take a few shots and actually see the crater.





We raced to the south to reach Tanah Lot by sunset, but we hit a street ceremony along the way, and between that, the traffic, and the rain, we arrived too late.

*No photo of the most photographed site in Bali* :(

Sunday marked a day in which I followed through on an amended bucket list task: I tried surfing. The original goal was to "surf in Costa Rica." I think surfing in Bali is just as sufficient, though. :)

Toto was also my surf instructor, which at the time, I thought would be better than doing a Quiksilver school group lesson. After an hour of failing to stand on the board, however, I started thinking maybe Toto wasn't so great for teaching beginners how to surf. Then again, it could have been the Bintang. No matter, we had much fun alternating between comical surfing attempts, splashing in the water, and lounging in beach chairs.... As the Bali buzz rolled on, Toto offered me "Magic Mushroom" juice, assuring me that he would "take care of me and that everyone on the beach knew him and it was all good."

Source of the juice?


Ahhh, magic mushroom juice -- would it be everything my college hallucinogenic experiences had afforded me? As an avid viewer of "Locked Up Abroad," though, I opted not to find out what this magic Bali juice was all about.

Just when I thought the unexpected was over, Toto declared his undying non-love for me. He went on and on about how he "really, really, really" liked me and how he's usually super shy and never talks this much to women and blah blah blah. He told me of his middle-school love who set a poem he had written for her on fire and how it had broken his heart. "Oh, Suzi... please, I don't want another broken heart. Can we make love?"

Here's the thing: I'm a laugher. I laugh when I'm nervous. I laugh when something's funny. I laugh when it's inappropriate to laugh. I laugh when I'm speechless. I laugh when I don't know how to respond. I laugh when I'm not paying attention. Sometimes, I even laugh when I'm pissed. If you really know me, you tend to know which "laugh" you're getting. But, really, even if you don't know me well, but are in tune with pitch levels and aren't completely out of wack with the world, you can usually gauge what my laugh means.

Toto, unfortunately, did not know me well, nor was he in tune with pitch levels. In this case, I laughed because I was mildly amused, completely taken off-guard, and was stuck for an adequate response. Toto then assured me (he was big in assurances) that we would use a condom. I was so taken back by his directness that I laughed again. Harder. Seriously? That works on girls?

*Surf lesson over!*

That evening, I tried to catch the sunset over Kuta-Legian beach. The thing about Kuta and Legian Beaches is that the minute you step foot onto the sand, you're in someone's "territory..." meaning someone is going to try to rent you an umbrella, sell you a beer, charge you for a "beach" massage, or dump a load of crap on you, like a fake Rolex watch. Lonely Planet said I'd be able to rest in peace after crossing the invisible line in the sand, but hell if I ever found it! Anyway, I rented my lounger and settled in for the sunset...



Two seconds passed and a woman offered me a foot massage. I thought it would be relaxing, so I naively agreed. It took less than a fraction of a milisecond for the other hawkers to descend on me like Asians on white rice. The thing with the Balinese is that they really are as friendly as their stereotyped reputation precedes them, so it's super hard to be a bitch to them. So, I just smiled and repeated "no, thank you" which often resulted in a ten-minute banter of adjusting my tone to mean "get the f- away from me or I swear to god, I'll stab you in the eye." But all with a smile! :)



The next few days found me in Ubud, about an hour north of the majorly touristed Kuta-Legian beach area. It's known as the arts and culture center of the island and I was excited to buy original artsy things. Unfortunately, I didn't find anything I was all that interested in buying, save for a painting of Ganesha, the Hindu god known for assisting in overcoming obstacles, from an artist I met on my trek along the Campuan Ridge.

Awesome, friendly artist whose name escapes me now


Rice Paddy


Working in the Paddy


It was the first day the sun shone in Bali since I'd arrived and I was out the door for a long hike. It was beautiful. The trek took me through rice paddies, artist huts, small villages, and unfortunately, by several wild dogs. SE Asia, I've noticed, is home to heaps of wild dogs. And I hate them. They're big, mean, and absolutely unpredictable. My policy with wild dogs is the same with touts and hawkers: don't make eye contact.

Despite this policy, I managed to lock eyes with a burly, strong, mean-looking wild white dog, claiming the street as his own as I walked through a village. This dog stared me down, daring me to continue. He even called his chocolate buddy to help work the intimidation factor. It worked. As I begrudgingly forced one foot in front of the other, I passed a teenage Balinese boy and an older guy working in a shed. Much to their amusement, I sheepishly explained how deathly afraid I was of these dogs and asked if one of them would kindly walk with me down the road, past the dogs. The younger guy agreed and we struck up a conversation. He asked if I wanted to see his house to which I replied with a resounding "hell yeah!"

The "houses" are protected and sealed from the main roads by concrete walls, so I couldn't see beyond those and I was dying to have a peek into traditional Balinese lives. He took me past the concrete slabs and we entered, for lack of a better term, a compound... three families lived there, in three separate, free-standing "rooms." There was a communal kitchen. His elderly father sat on the stoop drinking coffee, his mom standing in her bra smiled at me... I saw the pigpen in the back, and I was a little unclear if they raised the pigs to eat them, or if they fed the pigs special meals. Or maybe they fed the pigs special meals BEFORE they ate them. It was a communication breakdown.

His Family Temple


At any rate, he was so nice and after we emerged from his home, he walked me a little further and sent me on my way, but not before telling me what hotel he worked out in case I needed anything (and that I could also expect to come across a few more dogs on the way back to town).

One of Bali's many wild dogs


While in Ubud, I stumbled upon young girls learning a traditional Balinese dance - the Legong dance. Later that night, I saw a professional Legong and Barong dance performance.



What the young girls will grow up to look like:


Before departing Ubud, I enlisted a tarot card reader. I've had my cards read once or twice before and always took it with a healthy dose of skepticism. Given the squirvy way my life is evolving, I decided to see what the cards had to say at this juncture. I'd share the results with you, but maybe that's like sharing the wish you make when you blow out birthday candles -- if you tell, it won't come true!

My remaining few days in Bali were spent on a small island just to the southeast of Bali: Nusa Lembongan. Staying in an amazing villa for three days was just what I was seeking in Bali. Granted, I hadn't counted on all the families, but it was no worries. One of those days, I hired another motorbike driver (actually, I tried to rent my own motorbike, hellbent to overcome my MB fears stemming from my Thailand trauma when I somersaulted down a gravel hill on my motorbike and was pinned underneath. However, after five minutes of failing to truly acquire balance on the bike, I realized that I was ok with not conquering this feat. With lessons, I'm sure I'd be a stellar motorbike chick, but until then, I couldn't afford to wreck the bike and possiby suffer from a brain anneruism... so, a dude named Wayan got my business!)

Wayan was awesome-- he took me to the island's Mangrove Forest where I took a "traditional" boat ride, drove over to Nusa Ceningan (a small island connected to Nusa Lembongan by a suspension bridge that is large enough for one motorbike to cross at a time) to see some awesome views, and then finally to Dream Beach - a beach that TRULY lived up to its name. No boats in the "harbor" (for lack of a better term)... no water sports activities... just sand, palm trees, pounding surf with killer currents, and sun. It was heaven.

Dream Beach


Sunset at Jungutbatu Beach


Livin' it up on my balcony


View from villa

My final day in Indonesia found me taking the fast boat (I *heart* fast boats) back to mainland Bali, licking the salt from my lips as the Indian Ocean waves sprayed me. As I mentioned earlier, my to-do list listed reading and writing as my primary tasks; however, there was one more thing I had to try: parasailing. It was "late" in the afternoon (2:30 p.m.) and I had been told it was too late to go. Refusing that reality, I hit up one of the guys I met when I was first in Legian. Good ole' Christopher got it done, but we were given only 20 minutes to reach a location that typically takes 45-60 minutes to get to. We hopped on his motorbike and holy shit, I absolutely feared for my life. Motorbikes are fun when the driver isn't INSANE. Christopher was absolutely insane!

The ride down to parasailing was infinitely more adventurous and exciting than being pulled by a boat while hanging in a harness above the water. Nothing like barreling down an island highway at 100 kilometers weaving in and out of cars and dodging other motorbikes to kickstart a return trip home. As genuinely scared for my life as I was (my helmet was useless; the only reason it didn't fly off was because of the chin-strap), I genuinely had fun on that dare-devil ride.

To restore my heartrate to normal, however, I did indulge in one last Balinese massage before heading to the airport late Sunday night.

And, of course, there was one last sunset...

Part I: Turning 31...a brief reflection

Birthdays have usually been a time of contemplation and reflection for me. I've never been a huge "birthday" celebrator, but the year of age 30 was one HELLUVA year and I fully feel justified in celebrating the next year. On the one hand, admittingly, it's slightly scary to be fully entrenched in my 30s (although, according to subject matter experts, you're only fully entrenched once you reach age 35). On the other hand, age really is just a number... unless you're in Korea. Wait. I'm in Korea. SHIT! According to them, I'm an old freakin' maid destined to the bowels of society with absolutely no chance at love -- ever. Hmmmm. Bummer.

Although the Western world is slightly more forgiving for aging without having yet secured the time-honored tradition of a life-long partner by age 31, I am still surrounded by and reminded of societal "expectations," if you will. So many friends are engaged or already married. A few are sporting children or are have them in utero. WTF! What happened to slurping Snoopy Sno-Cones on the corner of Pinehurst St. condeming the conventional life that was destined to be forced upon us? (Ok, fine... maybe I was the only one bitching about convention, but I certainly wasn't alone in slurping Snoopies!)

This birthday is especially contemplative considering my current residence. One year ago, coming to Korea wasn't even on the immediate radar. Looking back, it seems that the *slight* chaos that consumed my life was creating the perfect situation for me to finally follow through with my plans to teach abroad. (For those of you in the know, I'm sure "*slight* chaos" is amusing to you.. as it is to me... !) Regardless, you never know what will materialize in life. What appears as detrimental one second manifests into the best freakin' thing you could ever imagine.

There was a time when I sought answers for impossible questions... not "Why am I here" or "What's the meaning of life", but rather, I wanted concrete explanations for certain events that have occurred. And that's just not the way life is. Life is messy. It's complicated. And really, I don't need to have all the "answers" ... Where I've been is where I'm coming from, but I'm certainly not chained to the past. As a great philosopher whose name escapes me at the moment said, "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."

And I know, the life I'm creating for myself has long since been waiting for me. I might have mixed feelings about turning 31, but it is absolutely never too late (at any age) to live the life you've dreamt of. Maybe I don't have a pension plan right now; maybe my student loan debt seems to be on par with the national deficit; but bump it, I'm living life on life's terms and creating a world in which I'm happy to inhabit.

Bound for Okinawa, Japan

*Pics to be included soon*

Five days was hardly enough, but it was so great to see my sister and family after nearly two
years! Currently based in Okinawa, Katie is closer to Taiwan than Japan, and the culture of Okinawa is, by most locals' accounts, decidedly Okinawan and not Japanese. With two brilliantly beautiful days when I arrived, Katie, the kids, and I walked to the Okinawa Zoo on Day 1-- and although we didn't see any of the animals, we did catch an Okinawan dance performance that was awesome.

Not necessarily feeling awkward, Katie was nonetheless accutely aware that she and I were the only Westerners in the park (well, except for two men, who were individually with Japanese women, which prompted Katie and I to discuss the intricacies of "inner-culture" marriage/relationships... since I haven't cleared this blog entry with her, I will refrain from sharing her viewpoint... and mine, too... stay tuned for Chapter 5 of my book. I'm conducting more research while in SoKo about the fascination men have for Asians.)

Because Katie and Chris live off-base (FYI: they are not "military;" rather, Chris is civil service with the Navy), Katie experiences a more authentic experience amongst Okinawans. Which isn't saying it's all that great. Okinawans are especially hostile (not necessarily phyically harmful, though) to Americans right now. For one thing, the American military has a base for each of its branches -- army, navy, air force, marines, etc -- on the island. And as is bound to happen anywhere, there have been unfortunate incidents between soldiers and Oki civilians (the most recent is one in which a soldier was drunk driving and killed an Okinawan). But the main thing, is that Okinawans want one particular base off the island. And a Japanese politician campaigned on the promise that he would make it happen.

So, when I was in Okinawa, tensions were high because talks of moving the base were to be held in the coming weeks. I say this to say that the stares Katie and I received from the Japanese are much more severe than the harmless, non-hostile curious stares I receive from Koreans.

*Sidenote: Since then (May 5-9), the politician renegged on his campaign promise, causing much upheaval amongst Okinawans. Although he said it was because of North Korea sank a South Korean ship (see other entry!), who knows if that's the truth, or a simple convenient scape goat?

My nephew, who is almost one year old, is bar none the cutest damn kid around. Of course, don't all aunts say the same thing of their nephews? But, because Katie gave birth to Brennan in Japan, I hadn't met him yet, and it was amazing.

Day 2 was a trip to Hamahiga, a not-so-well known small beach about an hour from Oki City. I had already known from my descent into Okinawa how much I missed the water, but being on the beach cemented my heartache. I am, first and foremost, a water girl. With seven generations of Floridians in my blood, I suppose it's genetic, but after settling in Orlando (yes, I know it was only an hour or so to the nearest beach) for so long, and now Korea, I know in my heart: I'm meant to be on, by, or in water!

Katie's husband had a 24-hour "layover" at home (his job takes him to far-reaching places on the globe for undetermined amounts of time) on Saturday, so I offered to babysit the kids so they could have a "Date Night." So, after a day of watching one of my nieces play soccer and then shopping for "American" products on the base to bring back with me to Korea (really, I just needed a new supply of Crystal Light lemonade!), I settled in for a night with the kids. After making dinner, changing Brennan, doing arts and crafts, and putting the kids to bed, I felt super domestic -- something I don't ever feel. Something I'm ok with not feeling right now :) I quietly thanked the universe for my current position in life.

Sunday morning, we made the trek to the airport. It was sad to leave Katie and the kids, but we'd had an awesome time.

Thanks again, Korea, for celebrating Children's Day, which gave me the opportunity to chill with the fam for a few days!

Hiking, bookstores, and baseball games

Hiking is a big sport in Korea. Everything I'd read before coming to SoKo indicated that Koreans were outdoors-crazed and loved to deck themselves out in hiking gear and hit the mountains. When I heard that I would be hiking a moutain with my fellow teachers, both Western and Korean, I though, what better time to invest in hiking sticks! HAHAHA. I was wrong!

I brought my cool new sticks to school the following Monday and just happened to show them to a Korean teacher, whose reaction I can hardly capture in words. Her gut-wrenching belly laugh, I had never heard, but I was so happy I could elicit such happiness and joy from my innocent purchase. J told me that only ajummas (really old women) use hiking sticks and that I'd be laughed right off the mountain. Of course, because I'm in Korea, no one would actually laugh to my face, but laugh they would... and they would do it heartily.

Needless to say, I didn't bring the sticks on the mountain hike (which was no worries, because the "mountain" was more of a kiddie-mountain with no need to stablize my footing. Even though we did get rained on when we had almost reached the top!

Baseball vs. Bookstores: A Fair Fight

I'm not a huge baseball fan. Actually, I'm not a huge sports fan. Sometimes, I wish I was, but I think there's something in my blood preventing me from indulging in the latest sports news. I am, however, very much interested in meeting new people. So, when I was invited to attend a Korean baseball game, I faced a dilemma: socialize and be bored at the game, or do something on my own? *Shocker*- I did something on my own. Liz said, "What other time in your life can you say you've been to a baseball game in Korea???" Fair enough. My response? "What other time in my life could I say how BORED I was at a baseball game in Korea?"

And, so on that beautiful Saturday afternoon, I bypassed Olympic Park and headed to Gangnam, an affluent area of Seoul, to check out Kyobo Bookstore. Man, did I make the right decision. Bookstores are my sanctuaries, my temples, my churches, my places of worship. They rank even higher than office supply stores (given my fierce opposition to "real" 9-5 corporate jobs, perhaps it's shocking that office supplies give me unmeasurable pleasure, but it's true. I could spend hundreds of dollars on paper clips, binders, notebooks, legal pads, markers, pens, retractable pencils... the works. OH! Just writing about it makes me giddy.)... but, as usual, I digress.

Walking into Korea's largest chain bookstore (which, incidently, puts Borders and Barnes and Noble to shame), I instinctively let out a breath of air and released weeks of unrealized stress. Turns out I was in desperate need of some quality alone time, wandering racks of stories, browsing a surprisingly large section of English books, and sifting through countless options of book escapism. It was heavenly.

True to form, I walked out with five books: One on learning Korean (for the love of god, I need to learn it!!!), one on Korean culture -- cartoon style, a pocket atlas (SWEET), a collection of stories by David Sedaris, and Paulo Coelho's "The Witch of Portobello," which is turning out to be an incredible book. While I'm not a big fan of fiction, Coehlo is a fantastic author. Admittingly, I've only read two of his other books, but I devoured them. "The Witch of Portobello" struck me for another reason, though... One of its catch lines is:

"How do we find the courage to always be true to ourselves -- even if we are unsure of who we are?"

Given some recent events that shall only be published in my Great American Nonfiction Novel, this line rang so true to me. I could write a whole other blog entry on this theme. Although I'm not entirely sure why I hold the view that I should know who I am, I'm even more unsure as to why I think it's unwise to share this sentiment with others. Upon reflection, though, why is that so bad? Yeah, I don't know entirely who I am... Does anyone? Are we not constantly evolving, adapting to new beliefs or thoughts? Maybe, maybe not. Personally, I believe if you're not growing or evolving, you're stuck. Stagnant. Living an unfilling life. For me, I hope that I always continue to grow and evolve... and that means sometimes being unsure of who I am. It can be uncomfortable, not knowing who I am. Labels help us identify with certain groups. But, as I recently read somewhere, labels are for food, not people! Insightful, I know. Sometimes I amaze myself at how freakin' reflective I can be.

Finding someone who claims to know exactly who they are is like someone who claims they have found the Truth. You should always doubt that claim; it's an impossible feat.

This whole "Who am I" business is tiresome. I'm thrust back to Mrs. West's eighth grade English class when I wrote a poem titled, "Who am I". I was the wind. It was a pretty heady poem for a 13-yr-old. And god knows, it was so indicative of my adolescence -- I mean, classbook Erikson in keeping with the stages of development...

Anyway, I don't think I'm the wind anymore, though my travels sometimes make me feel like it (but in this case, being the wind is good!) Whatever. If I had to create a business card, and I mean, my ideal business card, it would probably just have my name: Suzi Ball.

I am so many things. I just don't want to be boxed in.

And, so, I am reminded of Cat Stevens:

"Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
'Cause there's a million things to be
You know that there are."

So, that's it. I'm free. Because that's who and what I want to be.

I *heart* being groped... by Korean men

So here's an unexpected twist to my relatively mellow day: I was groped by my Korean landlord. A few times. I returned home after work and dinner with friends, dropped my bag off, and immediately headed back out into the seemingly neverending freezing rain to grab a bottle of water from GS25 (Gs 25 = 7-Eleven).

Halfway across the road, a man approached me. He looked vaguely familiar and I remembered, "this is the dude that "installed" my fire extinguisher a month ago." Talking in Korean, he graciously offered me a bite of his fried and battered corn dog (oh so appealing) to which I politely declined. I got the impression he wanted to show me something in my apartment, so that's where we headed. As he talked, he gestured. Frequently, his finger or hand would brush my breast. The first time it happened, I didn't pay any attention. It happens to everyone. The second time, I thought, "hmm, that's uncomfortable." And the third time, I almost decked him. Thereafter, any time he raised his hand to gesture, I danced around the room to avoid any contact. It didn't always work.

Fast forward: we're inside my apartment. He talks to me as though I understand, which truly, I think is great. He's so patient, and with an almost childlike naivety, I think expected me to just "get it." He's really rather nice. But with what could only be a blank stare, confused smile, and nervous laughter, I finally said, "I'm sorry. I have no clue what you're saying. You have no idea what I'm saying. Let me call a friend." (Flashback to using lifelines on the horrid TV show with Regis, I think... what the hell was it called? Something about being a millionaire?) Anyway, I called a Korean English teacher and she got on the phone with the guy.

Translation: Suzi, uhhh, I think he's really intoxicated. You should be careful because, you know what I mean, you're a girl. But anyway, he owns the building and just wants to say he's happy to be renting to you and that other residents say you're friendly (I do say "annyeonghaseyo" whenever I meet one). He also wants to make sure you're taking care of the place, blah blah blah. Oh, and don't touch the sprinkler in the kitchen that will put out a fire should one occur."

And that was it. Oh, wait... not so much. After hanging up, the landlord STILL stuck around...even after I opened my front door and basically said, get the hell out, dude. We're done here. Politely, of course. No, no. There was much more to be said and many more inappropriate hugs to hoist upon me. I think, though I can't be sure, he told me not to dry my clothes where I currently hang them. Somehow, he hugged me again, but this time, he pressed himself up against me and wouldn't let go (previously, he pushed up against me right as I dodged the clasping of his arms). Crafty little wrangler I am, I withered myself from his grasp and headed to the front door. STILL, he tried to stay. More talking. I think he professed his undying love for me. And then told me not to tell anyone. Charades really is an international language.

Fast forward: Second phone call to Korean English teacher friend. "Ahhh, friend, this guy is still here... can you find out what he's saying.?"

Translation: "He says you are very pretty and nice. He's very attracted to you. Do you know what I mean?" Uhhh, check. Got it. The manhandled hug cemented it for me, actually.

Meanwhile, my landlord finally left. Let me be clear, yes, the guy was drunk. Sure, he groped me. But he was so nice! I understand that saying how nice he is makes me sound like a total jackass, waiting to be a victim kind-of-girl, but that's not it at all... yes, I was creeped out, but I was never necessarily worried. A little creeped out, yeah. A little dirty? Yep. Even slightly violated. Fair enough. Had this EXACT same situation happened in the States, I would have called the cops instead of an intrepretor! Here, ahh, no worries. It's just a little soju. We all do insanely stupid shit when we drink soju. I'm sure when this guy is sober, all will be well with the world. And more importantly, he won't press his body against mine and touch my boobs. Because Buddha help him if he does... :)

Kimchi: Korea in your Kitchen

A funny ass skit from Steve Carell about kimchi... Kimchi is seriously served up at every Korean meal. After watching this, though, you may not know why!

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Korea in Your Kitchen
http://www.thedailyshow.com/
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Spring is in the Air

How did a girl who journaled almost daily for fifteen years and collected 15 handwritten journals during that time morph into an English teacher in Korea who only updates her blog every few weeks? My knack for detailing daily events is dwindling when it should be peaking. How the hell will I ever write my Great American Non-fiction Novel? Discipline, I suppose, it will take. Or perhaps, good health! Yes, folks, I've returned to the land of the living after a seven-day stay in the hospital and three-day home rest following that. Finally, about two weeks ago, I rejoined my fellow teachers and the kids that I teach.

It was a little slow-going for me to get back in the swing of things (1 p.m. hit and I was ready for my nap!), but overall, it wasn't too bad. I finally felt well enough this weekend to venture out and about in Seoul and so after helping a friend move on Saturday, I went into Seoul on Sunday with Justin to see the springtime cherry blossoms.

Logic might have told some of you to bring a map of the area we were visiting, but, hey, logic schmalogic. Besides, I was armed with meaty information: the cherry blossoms were by a lake. Using our crafty navigational skills and rudimentary grasp of Korean, J and I finally found Seok Chun Lake.

With a Disney-inspired 'Magic Island' theme park in the middle of the lake, Seok Chun Lake is pretty damn big... and I loved the cherry blossoms everywhere. Although it was overcast, the temperature more than made up for it. In the last week, the temp has finally climbed over 65 degrees and it has felt GREAT!

Oh yes, and how could I forget. On Saturday, I went to a hair salon (not in Seoul, though) to have my gray hair dyed. Not a lick of English was spoken and the process of dying hair was .... not up to American expectations. The hair dresser seemed nice enough, but extremely haphazard in how she applied the dye. It wasn't until she zipped an aluminum bag over my head and steamed my hair that I began to worry. And while that turned out to be ok, the color of the dye did not. Before, my hair was brown and gray. Now, it's brown and orange. But, hey, those colors compliment each other, don't they? :)

Back to Sunday: I went bowling with new-found English teachers! It was very exciting. If you're wondering, the bowling system is the same, but there's no food or beer to be had in the hall. Boooo. Other than that, eight lanes, same balls, same crappy bowling score (for me, anyway!). You know, same, same.

Work news: Apparently, we're hiking a mountain together on Friday. Nature is great, don't get me wrong, and I like hiking just fine... On my own terms. And in my own forest or on my own mountain (by that, I mean, not with 40 other people in my immediate vicinty with whom I should engage in small talk). Afterward, we're having dinner. As Katrina so eloquently put it: "There better be soju involved!" Agreed!

In other news, I've been trying to book a May flight to Japan for the last five days, but everything is booked. Turns out I want to fly on a major Korean, Japanese, and Chinese holiday: Children's Day. Not quite sure the origins of the holiday or the specifics, but I'll check it out and get back to you. The good news of it all is that I have a five-day (Wed-Sun) break from work the first week of May. Sweet! The better news is that a friend of mine found me a flight leaving on May 6 to Okinawa, so I will finally get to see my sister, bro-in-law, nieces and nephew after more than a year and a half!