seoul street scenes, 1

I like the idea that in some cities you never know what you're going to see on the streets at night. Not in a dangerous or call-the-police kind of way, but in the selling-baby-rabbits-on-a-cardboard-box kind of way.

So it's late and we've been singing. We come up out of the basement noraebang and get a face full of Seoul's summer heat. The street signs are bright and climbing towards the dark sky, and our ears are ringing a little from that last song. What are we thinking about? I don't know... the joy of having air conditioning in one's home, a big soft bed to sleep in, tiny baby rabbits...

No. Wait. Back up. I was never thinking of tiny baby rabbits - but then I saw a whole stack of tiny baby rabbits and couldn't get them out of my brain. They were so small, too small to be away from their mothers, and some of them were wearing tiny t-shirts. And they were the softest little creatures ever. I know because I couldn't help but pet them.



In the middle of all the oohing and aahing and petting you find yourself asking that automatic reflex of a question: just who walks past this overturned cardboard box covered in baby rabbits at half past midnight on a Friday and decides to buy one?

But then a couple comes along and picks out a matching set of baby rabbits. The man selling the rabbits puts them in tiny t-shirts which are really just glorified tube socks that have had the toes and everything above the heels cut off. The couple then makes the rabbits kiss (really) before placing them in matching shopping bags and walking off into the night.



I'm sorry to say that I was so entranced by the couple actually buying the rabbits that I failed to get a photo of them doing so. The above photo of another couple pondering their own set of matching rabbits will have to suffice.

And no, Stefano and I didn't come home with a matching set of rabbits. But if we did, we wouldn't have made them kiss first.

Pork + Soju

Among our colleagues in Seoul there's a little tradition called Soju Club and it's equal parts pork, soju, and crowd participation.

The pork is called "samgyupsal" and it's cooked at the table on a tilted griddle. Your server brings slices of raw pork that resemble very thick slabs of bacon, and lays them on the griddle - occasionally stopping by to turn the meat as it cooks. Once it's nearly ready, scissors are used to cut the meat into smaller pieces and diners use their chopsticks to pick up the pieces and wrap them in lettuce or sesame leaves, adding sauces and veggies to taste.

The best thing on the griddle - bar none - is the kim chi at the opposite end of the pork. The Koreans are a wise people and chose to put the pork at the top of the griddle mountain, while leaving the kim chi and onions at the bottom. This arrangement lets the fat drip its delicious way down through the onions and to a final resting place cuddling the kim chi. And oh, that kim chi is incredible. Food scientists might have chemical formulas for the magic that happens on the griddle - others credit the river of pork fat - but whatever the reason, kim chi has never tasted so delicious.



Soju, another critical element of Soju Club, is a fermented grain drink that's more popular than water in Korea. It typically comes in green glass bottles and is advertised everywhere by gorgeous women looking energetic and bright. However, I can report from first hand experience that while soju is definitely lighter than other alcoholic beverages, it's distant cousin could still easily be nail polish remover. I'm not one to eschew cultural mainstays with a simple "blech" but I do have to admit that when the odd bottle of soju hit the floor on Friday night, I shed no tears for the loss of liquid.

Soju is consumed in shot glasses and at this point it's important to note that one does not fill one's own glass in Korea - ever. So if you want to maintain your friends, you have to remember to keep an eye on their glasses... And if you're thirsty, you'd better hope that they're keeping a dedicated eye on your glass as well. If want to get really fancy about it you can fill your neighbor's glass by pouring the bottle with your right hand, and touching your right elbow with your left hand. This traditional gesture will definitely score you some cultural extra credit.



Crowd participation is crucial as there are many toasts to be made, and a lot of green bottles keep showing up on the tables. The crowd's interest and ability in keeping up with itself can be a delicate balance. The good news is that if you're like me, and order "naengmyeon" - my favorite cold soup - you can easily dump half a shot of soju in your bowl every round and no one's the wiser. But seeing as naengmyeon's too good to waste - with it's chewy noodles, hard-boiled egg, cucumbers, sesame seeds, and ice - I unfortunately had to wait until I had finished the better part of the soup to start using it as a soju repository.

The most important crowd participation comes at the end of the evening... Because after a night defined by pork, soju and greased kim chi there is nothing the crowd wants more than an off-key but enthusiastic rendition of Material Girl. With an encore of Sweet Caroline to follow.

last sunday morning

Sunday is a different kind of day at the fish market. Slow, sulky, half-closed... like waking up from a long afternoon nap. Saturday's throbbing and icy metropolis has cleared out and left behind a shell of its former self. While both days have their charms, the chance of a bruising collision with an oncoming ice truck is far less likely on Sunday.

In fact, the flow of the Sunday morning fish market is gentle enough that the fishmongers notice your footwear. Having learned a shoe lesson on my first visit, this time I wore my rubber rain boots which happen to be covered in small fish silhouettes. As we passed the vendors they'd point at my boots. Point, smile, laugh...

Once I figured out what was going on I'd point at my boots and give them a thumbs-up, and and they seemed pretty happy with that. My theory is that the fishmongers had a certain appreciation for fish market boots with pictures of fish on them. Either that or they'd never seen women's feet that large before.



I hadn't realized it the first time I went to the first market, but there's actually a second floor and in addition to being a great vantage point from which to see all the fish market action, it's also a really good place to eat. The second floor walkway is lined with restaurants whose front doors look out on the market below and what these places lack in high-end atmosphere, they make up for with fresh fish. And then some.

Choosing a restaurant was easy - we went to the only one we could find that was open before noon. We took off our shoes (and rubber boots) and found a seat on the floor. I was happy to see that they had one of my favorite dishes on the menu; hoedeopbap is basically bibimbap with raw fish. So you get a bowl of rice with fresh vegetables, herbs, seaweed, sesame seeds and spicy sauce, topped with slices of raw fish. It's one of the lightest and freshest dishes you can eat in Korea and if it weren't for a certain someone's not very secret concerns about mercury poisoning, I'd be eating a lot more of it.



This restaurant's version was the best I've had so far in Seoul and the side dishes were good enough to be promoted to main dish stature. I'm used to seeing a small fried fish come out with my meal but I'm still not used to eating it. I sort of pick around with my chopsticks hoping that a hunk of delicious fish will volunteer to part ways with the substantial skeleton still inside it. Sometimes it works and sometimes I find myself looking for discreet ways to remove fish bones from my mouth.



Once the Hoedeopbap was no more, and bones were all that was left of the fish, we unfolded our bodies from their awkward positions on the floor and headed to the front door to put our shoes back on. I hadn't noticed it on the way in but hanging by the shoe shelf was a long-handled shoe horn. A nice touch. But even better, the shoe horn - along with a pair of random metal tongs - was hanging next to the omnipresent soju girl poster. Soju is a popular Korean alcoholic drink and if you haven't seen this poster, you don't live in Korea. (I fear she may be more popular than the president.)



While I was taking this photo the owner of the restaurant quickly scurried over and took away the shoe horn and tongs, presumably to give me a better shot of everybody's favorite soju girl. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I wanted a picture of the shoe horn too. Ok, not so much that I didn't have the heart to tell her, but rather that I don't know how to say "I like the shoe horn so you don't have to move it." So instead I said one of the words I do know in Korean - thank you - and took a few more photos of the poster without the shoe horn too.

Sometimes I worry that my lack of Korean language is keeping me from engaging with Koreans. But then I find myself laughing with fishmongers who like my rain boots, and smiling with restaurant owners over soju posters and shoe horns. I realize this is far from the height of international communication, but it'll have to do for now. At least until I learn the word for shoe horn.

noraebang is karaoke

From the American perspective it's difficult to see why a group of friends would pay to go into a small room, close the door, and then sing pop songs for hours... but once you've done it, you'll want to start a petition to bring the love of karaoke to America.

Saturday night I walked into the noreabang a newbie and I came out a staunch supporter. Real karaoke is absolutely not about singing for strangers, or listening to the singing of strangers. The real version - the one you see in hundreds of noraebang in Seoul - is a small scale, heavily reverbed, private cabaret performance for your friends.



It's incredible fun and depending how luxurious your noraebang, it's potentially pretty darn cheap. You simply pick one of the many noraebang lining the streets of Seouls' liveliest neighborhoods and hope there's not a line of people who got there before you. In a typical Saturday night's progression the noraebang visit usually comes after a great dinner and a visit for drinks and darts at another place -- thus, after the eating and the drinking it's time for the singing.



You pay your $15 for an hour (and then ten more dollars for another half hour when you realize an hour just isn't enough) and you head on in and close the door. The room you've been assigned is larger than a bathroom but smaller than a college dorm room, and it's got sofas and chairs and a large machine that makes wonderful things happen. Wonderful things like the playing of videos on a large flat screen TV while song lyrics roll across the lower part of the screen. Inside we found tambourines, two microphones with colorful little hairnets on them, and a catalogue with thousands of songs to choose from.

The list of viable song options is far shorter for folks who don't speak Korean than for those who do, including those of us who may be able to s-l-o-w-l-y decipher the alphabet but still need at least half a day to sound out a full sentence. The good news is that the west's domination of pop music means that there's still a healthy helping of English-language songs to choose from. Simply pick a song, punch the numbers into the very large remote control, and then wait.



Some of us may be less Broadway-ready than others but it really doesn't seem to make a difference. There's enough reverb and tambourine to turn anyone's off-key attempt into a Grammy contender. Ok, not really, but that's why you drank the beer before you came.

Karaoke really is tons of fun - and this from someone who's spent a lifetime believing they sing about as well as a harbor seal. So consider this fair warning - if you come to visit us in Seoul, you're not only going to have to listen to me sing, but you're going to have to get behind the mic as well. You might as well follow the advice we received from our friends in the know and prepare a couple of karaoke stand-bys before you arrive. (There's at least one person out there who will be happy to know that my go-to karaoke song is quickly becoming Madonna's "Material Girl." And Stefano does a pretty mean version of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline.")



While our 4th of July couldn't have been more different this year than last, this Uncle Sam and Lady Liberty still spent the weekend celebrating freedom... the freedom to sing poorly, loudly, and late into the night.

north vs. south

Seeing the North Koreans play the South Koreans was a new enough combination, but beer and dried squid... that straw almost broke the camel's back. I say "almost" because that dubious honor is reserved for the $12 chicken nuggets that in order to rise above room temperature must be put in the soccer stadium's microwave by you after you buy them. At least the sauces were good.



We went with friends to see the soccer game on Sunday night and it was well worth the price of admission. If nothing else, it shows that soccer stadiums can be places where families congregate and petite Korean women feel at home. (Korea is very different from Italy in this regard. I don't even understand the Korean language but I'm fairly positive that the stadium wasn't filled with profanity-laden screaming. Or even anger for that matter. Just lots of chanting and flag waving and clapping. And some serious squealing by the ladies.)



Despite the begrudgery of some members of our party I decided to give the dried squid a chance. It was a school night and I'd already had half a beer, so I figured I might as well go whole hog and eat some dried-up pieces of fragrant sea life too. Good thing I did. Eating the stuff is vaguely reminiscent of fruit roll ups; you tear strips off of a larger sheet and while the concept may sound weird and a touch creepy, it tastes pretty good. Like chewy potato chips infused with salty fish flavor. That might not sound like a good thing - but it is.



The game ended in a 0-0 tie with a lot of running around but no goals scored. The two teams shook hands once the clock ran out and spent some time lingering together on the field. At one point the "One Korea" fans, who were holed up on the far side of the field, unfurled a giant white flag with a turquoise Korean peninsula on it -- the "One Korea" flag. Afterwards we noticed monks (didn't I tell you the stadium was a gentle place?) and others walking around carrying smaller versions of the flag.



Seeing the "One Korea" message was a pretty solid reminder of what would happen next. The jerseys would get thrown into duffel bags and the soccer balls would be collected and put away. The South Koreans would stay where they were and the North Koreans would get themselves back on their own side of the 38th parallel.

A gentle reminder that we live in a country technically still at war.

when in seoul...

When you're roaming around the market on a Sunday afternoon and notice leaning towers of silver noodle bowls rising out front of a packed restaurant it's not difficult to choose a place for lunch. In fact walking past this crowded establishment immediately triggered our trip-wire for eating well around the world: look for locals eating - and then eat there.

The only caveat with this method is that you've got to be ready to go whole hog because when you walk into a place like this, you're walking into a different reality. You're not only going to be eating with the locals, you're going to be eating like the locals. This means zero accommodation for the things you're used to where you're from. And that, my dear friends, is exactly the reason you're here.



You're here to climb the thin staircase to the second floor, take off your shoes, and discover that unlike downstairs there aren't tables and chairs, there are only tables.

You're here to sit on the floor. Which in turn means you're here to keep shifting your body weight around until you can find a position in which your legs, or your feet, or your bottom - or some combination thereof - does not go immediately numb.



You're here to order by pointing at photos on the walls, or food on other people's plates, and then hope that the meal you've gesticulated at and nodded for, actually tastes as good as it looks.

You're here to use a set of chopsticks for your noodles, a spoon for your soup, and the scissors for anything that's too unruly to be tamed by either the chopsticks or the spoon.



You're here to clean your face and hands with thin napkin squares that you find in a bunch on the floor, and throw your garbage in a small pail that just barely fits under the table.



And not only do you get to do these things but you also get to eat the best food on offer, like cold chewy noodles with cucumbers and spicy sauce and a hard-boiled egg on top. You get to slurp the noodles and drink water out of cold metal cups and sit in your socks on the floor. And you get to pretend - for just a moment - that you, of all people, know the best places to eat in Seoul.

unexpected guests

We have a screen door and a front door and neither has much space between it and the ground. You certainly couldn't shove a pencil outside without first opening both doors. Yet, somehow, this arrangement is not proving to be enough of a barrier for a very determined set of earthworms.

Why earthworms would want anything to do with our foyer is beyond us. We assumed they wanted nothing more than to scoot around underground and occasionally visit the surface after heavy rains. But you know what they say about assumptions and apparently earthworms in Seoul want to live inside. They are literally crawling under our front door and parking themselves in our foyer.

Before you ask I'll clarify that the worms aren't washing in with flood waters and they're not hiding in the treads of our shoes. These damn things are choosing - out of the vast geographical space available to them - to squeeze under two sets of front doors and then coil themselves up in our home.

The worm in the photo is one of six that have made the journey. When I picked it up to throw it out the front door it squirmed and twisted with a force I didn't know could come from a worm. The way it jerked and coiled between my fingers was absolutely disgusting and I have to admit that there were screams. (Thankfully not from the worm.)

You expect spiders inside. Anyone who's been in a basement is used to seeing roly poly bugs and thousand leggers. But earthworms? That's going to take some getting used to.

by popular demand

Several people, including someone who's celebrating a birthday today, have asked to see the slug-like creatures for themselves. I tried to spare you from the horror of the idea that people are buying bags of these squirming creatures, bringing them into their homes, and then eating them, but you had to see for yourself. Fine, then... I give you slugs.

morning at the fish market

There's no good place to stand in the Noryangjin fish market. If you stop moving for a second, even if you tuck yourself behind a parked ice-truck, you'll be in someone's way.

You'll be blocking the box of crabs that a vendor wants to sell or impacting the path of their moving bicycle or worse still, placing yourself in the trajectory of the saliva wad they're preparing to jettison from their throat. And the whistles and hoots streaming at you won't be because you're cute and adorable but rather because you're in the way and if you don't move right now at least they warned you before they ran you over with their ice-truck.



The floors are wet and anyone who's been to the fish market more than once is wearing rubber boots. The boots protect you from the water that's endlessly dripping from every surface. The boots keep the fish guts off your shoes and the jettisoned saliva off your ankles. But the boots don't keep you from falling: I saw a young ice man step out of his ice-truck and gracelessly thud to the concrete floor despite a sturdy pair.



The fish are no more graceful than the ice men and congregate on the floor in desperate groups. They shake and flop and do what they can to evade the fish women and their blunt blades and heavy lipstick. And for every fish woman with a cigarette dangling from her lower lip there's a fish man swinging an ice-pick. Both are more than ready to clean a fish of its innards in one simple tug.



The regulars here discarded their sense of wonder with yesterday's ice. A huge flounder flipped itself over on the floor and no one cared. A woman I was with bought a bag full of what I can only describe as giant pulsating horned slugs. And vendors ate breakfast snuggled into corners with piles of sea creatures born solely to populate nightmares.



It's a different place, the fish market. People fall out of ice trucks at all hours of the day and worms that look a whole lot like something else keep squirming until they're all bought up. And really, it wasn't so long ago that all of these writhing creatures were deep in the water where they belong.



But since someone went to all the effort to drag them up on land, it seemed a shame not to participate. So I did my part and went home with a kilo of mussels ($2) so fresh that they fought back when we tried to prep them. The kilo of giant shrimp ($14) is now in our freezer and I'm hoping they'll put up less of a fight. Then again, they're from the fish market so you never know.

friday night, 8pm

There's no place like this in the United States. Chicago isn't like this. New York isn't like this either. And maybe Las Vegas is a little like this but I don't think it's quite the same. What we have here is a non-stop flow of people and light in every direction. All coated with a mysterious yellow dust that fills your mouth with a metallic taste.

It's hard to get used to, but in Seoul the flow of life goes both outwards and upwards. The buildings here have a focus on verticality that catches westerners off-guard. If you only look at what's in front of you - at what lives on the first floor - you're missing more than half the story. Because in Seoul the buildings are layer cakes of shopping, dining, hair-styling...



It's important to clarify that I'm not talking about a mall or a shopping center. It's a city street. And taking two steps forward is as varied as walking two flights up. The bold, tall, stretching signage that clings to these buildings is there to shake you free of the idea that what lives at the root of the building is the same as what graces its crown. Here you need to look at every floor or you'll never find the restaurant you're looking for. Koreans have no problem with this upward thinking - even the highest floors are filled.

But ground level has its pleasures too. The streets are full of vendors selling every kind of crap you can think of. The whole point of being out for the evening seems to be shopping; in brick and mortar stores, sure, but even more so at tables covered with cheap headbands, sunglasses, and flip-flops. Or better yet, knock-off purses... if you don't find what you want at the LeSportSac store you can always exit the store and walk ten paces to a street vendor selling the knock-off versions for pennies.



Street food is everywhere. There's the ubiquitous dried octopus seller, and the potato sticks in paper cups. Slices of fresh fruit sitting on slabs of melting ice. Tomatoes and kiwi ready to be whirred into juice by a blender plugged into some magical electrical source stretching from a far-off land.

The coffee shops are full, the restaurants are full. The vendors are surrounded by teenagers with money to burn. And the people just keep coming, streams of them. All arm in arm - couples, friends, old men. All dressed well and looking good in the light of the vertical signs. If you think of Times Square in New York or Piccadilly Circus in London... it's that kind of energy with the light and the swarms and the feeling that if you stood still and tried to withstand the flow you'd be carried away into the wild urban beyond.



Another risk the urbanites of Seoul face is a mysterious yellow dust that arrives here by way of winds from China. It's the only negative we've found in this city and even the mild levels we sucked into our lungs on Friday made our heads ache and our mouths go acrid. Alas, every pleasure has its accompanying toll to pay.

But even with the dust, Seoul is a city that we should all be hearing more about. Once you get here and start exploring you wonder why people back home aren't talking about this place. You wonder why no one was telling us that we just had to come here to see and shop and eat. But then you get distracted by four stories of glowing signs, and the crowd pushes you forward, and you fast forget what it was like to not know Seoul.

happy birthday buddha

Last Monday was Buddha's birthday which not only gave us a day off of work but also the perfect reason to visit the Bong-eunsa Temple in downtown Seoul.

I may have already mentioned that this city's juxtapositions are infinite and spectacular. Seoul is a throbbing web of ancient culture and impulse-buys, jagged alleys and sparkling skyscrapers... And it's best appreciated by whirling yourself into the superficial and then escaping to the spiritual; dropping waist-deep into the low and then hurling yourself at the high. Get out there and don't stop until you see something you've never seen before.



We'd never been to a Buddha's birthday celebration so that fit the bill. To get to the temple we rode the subway to one of Seoul's largest shopping centers and walked through its powerhouse of shopping and consumerism. We walked out the front doors and crossed the street - and there was the Temple. As simple as that. One side of the street has all of your earthly needs while the other covers the spiritual.

The temple grounds - decorated with thousands of colorful lanterns - were packed solid with happy visitors who were all celebrating in their own way. Families were spread out on grassy patches to picnic and relax. The devout stood before a towering Buddha to bow and pray. Others stood in line to visit smaller golden buddhas in shady temples. And we stood back and watched it all.



The largest Buddha on the Bong-eunsa grounds stands several stories high and when you climb the hill behind him to get a better perspective you find that he drops perfectly into Seoul's skyline. Worshipers are scattered on the ground before him but he stands tall and unmoving as high-rises glint in the sun. Seoul's combination of spirit and cement has never been more obvious.

We ate lunch on the grounds after wandering through a packed marketplace of vendors selling all manner of delicious korean foods. We chose a green onion pancake which was fried in more oil than an elephant ear, and a spicy rice noodle dish which resembled giant worms more than anything else. As expected the food was incredible. Even better, it was easy to order since it was being made right in front of you and you could point at whatever looked good. (And it all looked good!)



Leaving the temple grounds we ran into several groups of schoolgirls giving out free hugs. While we appreciated their signs (in English, yay!) we didn't take them up on their offer, fearing some sort of international incident in the making. We couldn't understand all of the words in their "come and get a free hug" song - which, unlike their signs, was not in English - but they liked that we took photos anyway.



(Korea, by the way, is a great country in which to be a photographer. You're never the only one with a camera, and there's always someone whose camera is bigger than yours. The steal-my-camera target rarely rests on your shoulders alone.)

Despite skipping the free hugs we had a great time at Buddha's birthday. After celebrating, eating, and wandering through the crowds on the temple grounds there was only one thing left to do: we crossed the street and went shopping. Because, my friends, that is what you do in Seoul.

hey jude

When you see a large group of professional Korean musicians in traditional dress you don't expect their playlist to include the Beatles but tonight after wandering around downtown Seoul eating street food and perusing dried octopus arms in the market we were treated to a traditional Korean arrangement of "Hey Jude." We'd joined a large crowd sitting on the steps of the Performing Arts Center and before we knew it we were listening to a three-song Beatles medley that also included Let it Be and Oblah Di Oblah Da. We didn't recognize the instruments or the sounds they were making - and the playbill explaining the concert was in Korean so we couldn't read it - but it's hard to miss three Beatles songs in a row. Especially when they're punctuated with something that sounds a whole lot like a kazoo.

Daegu: sounds like Tay-goo (part 2)

Continued from the previous posting... more of what we learned about Korea this weekend.

4. You can bring your toothpaste to the sauna.

Ever been to a Korean sauna? I have and I can tell you that there are two key components. The first is a whole lot of water. And the second is a whole lot of naked people. And believe it or not, the combination works.

The women and the men have separate facilities (you can get the general idea via the pool layouts in dark red on the "map" pictured below) and so I can only report on the female version of the sauna experience. I'll also note that Stefano's experience seems pretty darn similar except with more bells and whistles; the men get free hair gel.



As for the ladies, you dump your clothes in a locker and then take your tiny towel, small bar of soap, and packets of shampoo and conditioner out to the sauna. At this stage you're probably trying to drape the too-tiny piece of terry cloth over as much of you as possible, choosing to focus on your front or your back as it's pretty clear that your towel is unable to fully cover one side of you let alone two. If there's ever been an exercise in futility, this is it.

And it's really very silly because once you leave the locker room the only thing you see is naked people. Naked people of every age, every shape, and every size. They're everywhere and in every position. Standing, sitting, floating, bending, squatting, stretching... even brushing their teeth. Nothing is left to the imagination and you immediately get the sensation that nothing about you will be any different than all of this.

So you drop your towel, you pick up a small plastic stool and two plastic bowls, and commence washing. Before you know it you're perched on a small plastic chair pouring bowls of water over your body while your neighbor's doing the same not one foot away. And that's just the start.

Next you move to the real reason you're there: a series of water pools of varying temperature. There's a medium heat pool, a pretty darn hot pool and a skin-scorching pool. (I have to admit that I couldn't look away from the skin-scorching pool as everyone who puts that first foot into the burning water makes some sort of pained expression; even the old pros grimace.) There's also the freezing cold pool which I appreciated after all of the high temps. I experienced neither the steam room (too hot) nor the massage by the naked masseuse (no reason to rush on that one).

The great thing is that once you settle in and take a seat in one of the pools, the day goes by as if you were sitting on your stoop. You have a conversation with your buddy, you watch people come and go... it all feels quite normal. Although I still don't think I'll be bringing my tooth brush the next time around.



5. The karaoke bus is an important development in vehicular entertainment.

Ever board a bus and notice a sound board next to the driver's seat? What about a microphone that is so carefully wired it'll stretch all the way to the back of the bus? The flat screen TV is also a pretty good clue. Or the karaoke song book and remote control.

All I know is that if you're boarding your bus and you see those things, you're in for the best ride of your life. Lots of buses these days have filtered water machines and tasseled curtains over the window - but I'm here to tell you that it's the karaoke that makes the difference.

If you're traveling with a good group of people there'll be a line of folks waiting to sing. We had people start singing even before the sun went down. They belted out ballads, rock anthems, and country classics. And our driver made sure that each one sounded like a pro. Not only was this guy great at making a 16-point turn in lieu of the standard U-turn, but he could tweak the sound board levels at the same time. His attention to detail was perhaps a little less appreciated on the curving mountain passes, but you've still got to appreciate his commitment to audio excellence.

Daegu: sounds like Tay-goo (part 1)

This weekend we went on a language immersion trip to Daegu which is pretty funny because our normal life here is really one big immersion tour anyway: we walk around Seoul and do our best to communicate despite having zero language ability. It definitely makes us appreciate the Italian skills we had upon arrival in Milan although I've got to admit that our sign language has never been better. This weekend's trip was a first step towards developing stronger language skills and although we're no closer today to being able to express our needs in the Korean language, we did learn a thing or two about Korean culture which - frankly - is just as interesting.



1. Don't talk too loudly on the train.

It's a two-hour train ride from Seoul to Daegu and while the time goes by relatively quickly you're still left with nothing much to do for 120 minutes. The natural thing is to start talking with your friends and colleagues since they're sitting across from you and also have nothing to do. From our experience in Italy we know that this is not just an American custom and from what I've experienced on Italian trains, Americans display relatively tame train behavior. However, it seems that we're not quite tame enough for the Korean train system.

There's a lingering formality about the trains here. When you're at the station and first come upon your train waiting on the tracks you're actually greeted by a uniformed employee who does a quick little head bow and points you in the right direction - this type of greeting doesn't happen on Amtrak and the only American comparison I can make is what sometimes shows up in old movies with Cary Grant. Unfortunately, this uniformed attendent is also the person who tells you to quiet down if he thinks you're talking too loud. Which happened to us while we were having what we felt was a fairly muted conversation. And the worst part is that he does it in a quiet voice - kind of like a librarian - so that he's sure to model the proper volume of speech. You never forget your first time being reprimanded at a whisper.



2. You will pay a fine in the all-you-can-eat restaurant if you over-estimate how much you can eat.

For Sunday's lunch we went to this great all-you-can-eat Korean barbeque buffet. Every table has a skillet-like grill in the center and your job as the visitor is to go to the freezers along the wall and choose what you'd like to grill. It's a bit strange to be picking your meal straight out of the frozen food section but having tried it I've got to say that it's a pretty sound concept.

I walked past all of the beef and pork - tubs full of different cuts and types - and headed straight for the tentacles. There were two varieties of whole squid and one tub of marinated octopus and I've never been happier with eating a plate full of sea life. Having experienced both excellent and atrocious seafood in Italy I was worried that I might not be able to do justice to the marine life frozen in front of me but I shouldn't have worried. All you have to do is plop the creatures on the griddle, ignore them for while, and then eat them with rice.



But don't forget the scissors. Hats off to the Koreans on this one... scissors are a perfect addition to the standard silverware set. What better way to attack a meal that's comprised of several arms and a big bulbous body than with scissors? Or a big bowl of noodles in seasoned soy sauce? A knife and fork will have you chasing your octopus across the room and even experts cut their noodles before going at them with chopsticks. The next time you're fighting with food, give the scissors a try - it works for the Koreans.

The only trouble with walking past freezers full of meat and seafood, side dishes, rice, noodles, and soup is that you want to eat it all. And it's not too surprising seeing as it is an all-you-can-eat restaurant. But in Korea you'd better think again. Because if you think you want to eat it all, you're going to have to follow through or else pay a fine. And while I don't doubt that most of us can afford a $5 fine I do question whether we really want a formal reminder in front of our colleagues that we're a giant pig and wasted a plate of food. More effective than the fine, wouldn't you say?



3. Follow-up: Same goes for temple food except that the fine is bad karma because they really can't charge you.

Late Saturday afternoon we visited the Haeinsa Temple which is one of Korea's three major temples and is also a UNESCO world Heritage site. The temple is a gorgeous structure sitting on top of Gaya mountain and surrounded by lush greenery. However, this temple's prominence and fame derive more from what it houses (the Tripitaka Koreana) than from its beauty, which goes a long way towards explaining the importance of the Tripitaka Koreana.

The Tripitaka Koreana is made up of of 81,254 carved woodblocks and is a compilation of sacred Buddhist texts. The carving of these printing blocks was finished in AD 1251 and despite a jaw-dropping 52,382,960 characters carved into wood by hand, there are no mistakes. The buildings in which these wooden blocks have been stored over the centuries use a sophisticated ventilation system and a combination of charcoal, clay, and calcium oxide to absorb humidity during the rainy season and slowly give it back when the weather is dry. The fact that they're still around in all their glory - despite various invasions, wars, and fires - is no small feat.



We also were able to watch the evening drum performance during which several monks play four types of drums in succession. It's a moving concert and entire families gathered to listen to the various rhythms. The storm of noise was in stark contrast to the dinner we'd just finished. Everyone is welcome to dine at temple meals; there's no charge (you're expected to leave a donation) and you dine in the same large hall as the monks, although at separate tables. There are two rules to this experience in simplicity and spiritual harmony: 1. Don't talk, and 2. Finish everything on your plate.

It's surreal. In the dining hall there are only the noises of chair legs scraping the floor as people come and go and the hushed sounds of eating. That's it. You start by quietly grabbing a bowl and then just as quietly walking past several gigantic pots of food, scooping your portion into your bowl. This is where you have to keep in mind that despite appearing otherwise, the bowls are actually pretty darned big and it's wise to fill them appropriately.



The food was simple and good and as long as your eyes aren't bigger than your stomach there shouldn't be too many problems finishing. Although - truth be told - I had to ask Stefano to help me finish my soup. (Which I did without saying a word, thank you very much.)

At the end of the meal you bring your empty bowl to the kitchen sink and place it atop the towering piles of bowls already sitting there. All empty. I guess no one wants to risk making the monks mad, or sullying their offer of a free meal by not finishing what you take. Personally, I hope I didn't get any demerits for the two hot pepper slices that I left behind; I assumed that the monks in all of their benevolence would understand.