Bogyeong-sa Temple

I'm starting to see a pattern that my posts are coming mid-week, rather than each weekend. Ah well, they are still weekly!

Two weekends ago, I went for a hike with two Korean friends, Ruby and Cha-Cha (her Korean name is Chan-Hee). We went to Bogyeong-sa temple in the Northern region of Pohang, nestled in the foothills of Mt. Naeyeonsan. It was beautiful. The weather was clear, the sun was bright, and the breeze was cool. A few trees had just begun to change their color. There were so many people out enjoying the weather! I was amazed at how crowded the trail was. Koreans love to hike, I have been told.

As always, it felt good to get out of town, but I was particularly happy to at last locate this particular temple and hike. I had been trying to get there on my own for weeks, with little success. One of the local buses goes to it, but not on every run. I couldn't figure it out! I'm lucky to know some cool Koreans who were interested in some fresh air and good exercise. As leaves are popping even more now, I plan to make another excursion to the mountains to see them in full force.

This temple is well known in Pohang because of the beautiful surrounding area, including the hike with its twelve waterfalls, many gorges, and beautiful bridges. Walking across an awesome pedestrian suspension bridge, I looked down to see the water pooling below, so clear and clean. From far above it was easy to see into its crystal depths.

The temple itself was built in 602 (C.E.), during the Silla (seel-ah) period. The "Silla" period (57 B.C.E.-935 C.E.) was quite important in Korea, and signs of it still remain today. Silla refers to the first time in its history that Korea was unified as one kingdom, bringing an end to the era of three separate kingdoms. The Silla period was a time when Korea flourished, and stood out as one of the most advanced cultures in the world.

I'll briefly mention that Korea has a centuries-old special relationship with China, mostly one of great respect. Silla was closely connected with the Tang Dynasty in China, sent many of its students to Tang schools, and at this time was given the significant Chinese designation of "flourishing land in the East." The Silla capital, Gyeongju, the "city of gold," is just 30 minutes outside of Pohang! Now often referred to as the "museum without walls," Gyeongju is an historical treasure I plan to visit quite soon. If the Bogyeong-sa temple is any indication of the Silla architecture and beauty, I can't wait to see a whole city full of the same. Despite some casualties of history, much of Gyeongju remains intact.

Korea has so much beauty, and I'm just beginning to explore it! I can't wait to see more!

Another Mailing Address!

A few of you need to know that if you plan on sending me something in the mail that is bigger than a letter, you need to send it to my school, not my house. This is mostly because the mail man does not know the key code to get into my building, and partly because of the weird hours I work and sleep that don't quite line up with the mail schedule. There is a chance I will receive a package if you send it to my house, but not a good chance. If you have already tried to send me a package, let me know, and I will go with a Korean-speaker to the post office; I think they hold them there. The address you should use is:

Kirsten Smith
c/o: Moon Kkang English Academy
2nd floor, 470-5
Daejam-Dong, Nam-Gu
Pohang-Si, Gyeongsangbuk-Do
South Korea, 790-310

Letters can still come to my apartment address, for now, but that may be changing soon. I will let you know.

And just for fun, a word about addresses, in case you're curious.

Moon Kkang English Academy, 2nd floor, 470-5: This, of course, is the name of the school, followed by the floor and building number. In my home address, the first line is just my apartment complex name, apt. number, and building number. In Korea, there are very few signs with street names. Most streets don't have names at all! And though buildings all have official numbers, they usually aren't posted anywhere. Some buildings have names, but those usually aren't posted either, unless it is a business or a school. In addition, they number buildings according to when they were built, so you could have number 19-3 next to number 174. It makes it loads of fun to find someones' house for the first time!

I'll take a brief aside to point out that I say "house" in the non-literal sense--I have yet to see a single house; everyone lives in apartments buildings, many of which are up to 30 stories high! Mine is only 5, which means no elevator! The style of building that I live in is called a "villa" (pictured right and above) because it is somewhat smaller than the high-rises you see everywhere in Korea. I'm not sure, but I think villas are a little nicer than most high-rises. Though my apartment number is 502, I live on the 4th floor. Why? Because in Korea, the number 4 is superstitiously bad luck and a symbol of death, much like the number 13 at home. Therefore, when numbering, lot of buildings go right from the third to the fifth floor.

Daejam-dong, Nam-gu: Dong means neighborhood, so Daejam-dong is the name of my neighborhood. A Gu is an urban district or ward, which contains many dongs. Nam-gu is my district. Fun fact: I live right next to city hall! It is beautiful. To the left is city hall from the front. To the right and below is a picture of the park behind city hall were I like to hang out and read sometimes.

Pohang-si, Gyeongbuk: "Si" is Korean for "city." Pohang-si is simply, the city of Pohang. Gyeongbuk (formally Gyeongsangbuk-Do) is the province of Korea that I live in, much like a state. It has 13 cities and 10 counties, and a local government that reports directly to the national government. My city, Pohang, is the major port city of the region, as well as being a major port city to all of Korea.

South Korea 790-826: This may seem obvious, but I won't assume--the numbers after Korea are just the postal code, much like a zip code.

This post was prompted by a question from Claudia, feel free to shoot me any other questions you may have, I'll be happy to fill you in. :)

National Health Care!

As some of my readers know, I have a jaw disorder called TMJ (Tempromandibular Joint disorder). I was diagnosed when I was in the fifth grade after a mysterious and excruciating pain arose in my jaw that made it difficult to chew food as soft as the noodles found in my chicken soup. After a few weeks of the pain persisting, I went to a specialist who figured it out. I underwent some physical therapy in the form of intensive full body massage followed by hot packs (rough, I know), and it got better. Since then I've stayed away from gum and taffy, and it's mostly been ok. I'm a lucky one--some people have TMJ so bad, it causes intense migraines and chronic pain every day.

So, that was when I was 10 years old. My TMJ has been pretty dormant for most of the past 15 years with a few slight exceptions. However, strangely enough, a few weeks back it flared up, full force. I really don't know why, nothing in my jaw behavior has changed. I haven't started chewing gum--something I haven't done regularly since I was 10. As a rule I stay away from taffy and caramel, and if I'm feeling a headache coming on, I'll avoid anything even mildly difficult to chew. Nuts, salad, sweet-tarts. Contrary to what you might imagine, I'm not entering any yodeling contests either. But who knows? Moving to Korea and starting a new job amid a populous who don't speak my language or understand my culture--this is a major life change. Maybe it's related to that and the resultant stress? It's possible. At any rate, I realized after a week of Tylenol and no real change in the pain that I needed to do something more about it.

Quite conveniently, there is a Korean traditional medical clinic on the bottom floor of the building that Moon Kkang is housed in. Since arriving here, I had been wanting to check them out and see about getting acupuncture treatments just as a practice for general health and well being. With the return of my TMJ pain, I had an even more pressing reason to go. Two Mondays ago, I decided to give it a try. Joe accompanied me to help with the language barrier. We stepped into the waiting room, removed our shoes, and gave the receptionist my national health card. Less than five minutes after entering, unscheduled, I had filled out paperwork, and the doctor called us into his office to talk to me.

He wore a pale blue lab coat and a tie, and gestured to two comfy wings chair before taking a seat at his mahogany desk. We sat, and I looked around at certificates on the wall, a few photos on his desk, and felt the plush blue carpet under my sock-feet. I explained my pain and my history. Joe helped with the finer points. In broken English, but with only minimal help from Joe, the doctor said what my specialist said all those years ago. TMJ is a difficult problem to treat, and many doctors are unsure of what the best treatment is. He tacked on that this is true weather you chose to treat the disorder with eastern or western medicine, or a fusion of both. Then he had me hop up on the patient table which was discreetly tucked against one wall of his office. He felt my jaw, my neck, and my back, applying pressure gently. He asked me to open my mouth and say "ahh." He had me lay down and took what I recognized from previous acupuncture treatments in the states as what could be described as my "Qi pulse" (though this is probably really bad terminology, of my own mixed creation). Basically, he took both my wrists in his hands for a few moments, rested on my abdomen, in a different grasp than a western doctor or nurse would use to check the pulse of the blood. He then gestured that I sit back down in the chair.

He asked about any shoulder, neck or back pain, all of which I confirmed. I must admit, that's kind of the status quo, I have probably neglected it from being used to it. He said that though this is a difficult problem, he would like to try his best to help me. He said he wanted to see me 3 times a week, and that he would focus on the TMJ, but also attempt to treat the pain along my spinal column as well, as it is all connected. He explained that he thought acupuncture would be a good method to try. He seemed to be checking in with me about this, with an inquisitive, uncertain facial expression. I smiled, nodded, and said it sounded good to me--I had entered his office expecting to find treatment with acupuncture. The doctor stood up and opened a door that we had not entered through, at the other side of the office. At this point I looked at Joe, who had been helping bridge the language gap all along, because I was confused about what was next. I thought now was the time to make an appointment. My mistake! Now was the time for treatment!

I was immediately led through the back door of the office and into the treatment area, which resembled an ER. Exceptions being that it had low lighting, and a pleasant aroma of light incense. There were several beds, all in a row, separated by curtains. The nurse gestured to me to lay down and then brought a heat pack to drape over my abdomen. She turned on a heat lamp. I rested there for maybe 5 minutes, quietly chatting with Joe, before the doctor returned, and began the treatment. He wiped my temples and spots on my arms and hands with alcohol swabs, and inserted several needles. Perhaps 15? I'm not sure. He spoke to the nurse in Korean, who then attached electrodes to two of the needles. The doctor smiled softly and said "This, electricity. Do not afraid, normal treatment." I smiled and said, "It's ok," thinking of how I had sat with my grandmother a few times while she received the same treatment for her shoulder bursitis from our family acupuncturist back home.

I lay there for about twenty minutes, resting my eyes and trying to focus on my breathing. It felt good. Calming. Eventually, the nurse returned, removed the electrodes and needles, and told me I could go. I went to the counter to pay. It amounted to a total of 5,500 won, about the equivalent of $4.95. Hurrah for national health coverage.

Within 40 minutes of walking into this Korean medical clinic, I had filled out paper work, talked to the doctor, received treatment, and headed back out the door, early for my work day. I felt sort of heady, to be honest. Like I had just experienced some kind of miracle. I have a medical problem, and I am getting treatment. Immediately. At a cost I can afford. What is more, I have been back what, 6 times now? EVERY time I go there, without an appointment, I walk in and I am immediately taken to the treatment room where I lay down, I am given a heat pack, the doctor arrives and treats me, and I leave, within 40 minutes. Every time. Now, I know they are expecting me, but it is not the same as an appointment. They simply ask that I come on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. They don't care what time. I haven't missed one yet, but I imagine if I did, that would be alright, no penalties. No cancellation fee. And each time I go, I pay about $5.

Prior to this experience, I had some medical issues I was dealing with back home, and the actual medical problem aside, it was less than pleasant. Each time I went to see my doctor, though I had appointments, I always had to wait for a good 20-30 minutes. Of course, by now I have accepted that as standard with any doctor appointment back home. That's almost always been the case, no matter where I've gone for treatment. Each time I went, I had to pay a $25 co-pay, even if all I did was talk to the doctor for 10 minutes (after waiting for twenty) and then have a prescription written. And of course, the prescription would then cost another $15-$30. Maybe more, if the prescription was not available in generic form. In this recent debacle, I had to have some lab work done, which amounted to much more than I ever would have dreamed of (thanks to my naivete). If I had better insurance, more would have been covered, but my low income demanded that my health care coverage be affordable (which means VERY basic with an inordinately high deductible). I'm still paying off the bill. I know my story pales in comparison to that of many more Americans frustrated and bankrupted by the same problem.

I did not intend for this to become a rant on the American health care and medical system, but it seems inevitable at this point. I've been bold enough to hope our country could work to create a better system, more so since I've been old enough to fully grasp what that means, but I'm beginning to become pretty disillusioned and frustrated. And I don't even have real medical concerns. In the 1960s, Korea had a GDP about equal to that of Ghana in West Africa. In the short time from the 1960s until now, Korea has grown to be have a market economy that ranks 15th in the world. One of the "Asian Tigers," Korea is included in the list of G-20 major economies and is included in the "Next Eleven" countries, which means it has high potential of becoming one of world's largest economies in the 21st century. How long now has the U.S. been an economic superpower and the world's wealthiest nation, and completely incapable of providing all of its citizens with adequate health care. Even minimal health care. Ugh.

It is such a wonderful feeling to know that if anything should happen to me while I am here, I don't have to worry about how much it will cost to see a doctor. This is something that used to cause me a lot of anxiety, and has probably delayed me from seeking treatment at times. I recently met someone who is also teaching here, who broke his arm last year. He was immediately taken to the hospital in an ambulance, saw a doctor within 5 minutes of arriving at the ER, and left with the bone set and a cast on his arm inside of half an hour. The cost of everything, the ambulance ride, the emergency room, the set and cast? About $5.

I will say that I sincerely hope that our country is capable of real and lasting health care reform. I know the problem is very complex and driven largely by capitalism and the almighty dollar. It is not so easy to change, as it is connected to every other part of our economy. But one can hope. However, I am deeply grateful to have this opportunity to utilize the gift of national health care while I am in Korea in a meaningful way. I am grateful to be able to see first hand how the system can work--it is not just a fantasy.

Sokcho to Gangneung

This weekend, I hopped on yet another bus, and made the trek to Sokcho, on the northeast shore. Sokcho is the smallest city in South Korea, and current home to my longtime friend and former roommate, Babbie. It was great to see her for the third time in two months. These frequent visits make me feel like home really isn't that far away, and the world is growing smaller with each year that I inhabit it.

This trip was my furthest exploration outside of Pohang yet, and it was rewarded with some experiences I have long been craving since I arrived. Babbie and I, along with Megan and Courtland, went to a coffee house acoustic show in Gangneung. The performers were more friends of Babbie's from her first year teaching in Sokcho. They were welcoming and inclusive, and even asked Babbie and I to play a little music at the break. The music was good, and the crowd supportive. This is the first live music I have attended since I arrived, and it ended leaving me inspired to seek out more of the same. I miss opened mics and acoustic sets, and I am beginning to wonder if I shouldn't go about creating something like it here in Pohang. The jury is still out, we shall see.

After the show, the shop owner, Lim, invited us into his beautiful home, where he made us a Korean meal. We were up until all hours, talking and listening to his stories about his family, his travels, and his career as an entrepreneur. As the night wound down, he invited us to stay, as the hour was early and our original plan not quite as comfortable. We accepted the invitation with much gratitude. In the morning, after a good night's rest, he cooked us another traditional meal, followed by tea and further conversation. He was a genuine person and treated us with such great kindness and hospitality, we all came away feeling comforted and warmed.

We had stayed at Lim's much longer than we planned, but none of us had regrets. When we left, we had a little time remaining to enjoy the emerging sun on the beach in Gangneung. As the cab pulled around a corner and the coastline emerged, my breath escaped me. The horizon opened up on crystal blue waters, breaking waves, and golden sand littered with shells. The beach in Pohang is beautiful, but this, was magical.

On my bus ride home, I breathed deeper. There is so much to see and do here, and a year really is not so long. There is so much ageless natural beauty amid a culture of genuine hospitality. When I have moments in which that is fully realized, I begin to wonder why I ever feel lonely here.

Chuseok

The past week was an unusual one, as smack in the middle of it was the Korean Thanksgiving, or harvest festival, known as Chuseok. Though pilgrims and natives are not involved, it does carry some parallels to the American Thanksgiving holiday in that it is a time for food, family, and days off from work!

I did some reading on Chuseok and came to learn that at the time of origin (maybe as early as 57 B.C.), it was all centered around a month-long weaving contest between two teams. At the end of the contest, the team who had woven the most cloth was rewarded with a feast, prepared by the losing team.

Today, there are no weaving contests to speak of, but there certainly are feasts! Koreans celebrate Chuseok by traveling to their hometowns, to be with family, eat mass amounts of traditional food, and celebrate their ancestors. EVERYONE travels on this weekend, which I discovered in real time by finding it impossible to buy a bus ticket out of town, even by the Friday after. Ah well, I thought, I was willing to save further travels beyond the reaches of Pohang for another weekend.

As for us foreigners, we had Tuesday-Thursday off, and we decided to make the most of it by celebrating with a potluck. According to wikipedia, one of the traditional foods that is prepared during Chuseok is is songpyeon, a crescent-shaped rice cake which is steamed upon pine needles. Unfortunately, I did not get to try this particular dish, but one of the Korean teachers, Kang-Mi, who is also my teaching partner, did bring a few delicious Korean dishes for us to try. I will have to ask her for the names once again. One resembled potstickers, filled with pork and rice noodles, to be dipped in a spicy red bean sauce. Another was a spicy cold noodle dish, and another resembled a pancake made with rice flour, seaweed and onion. All were quite delicious.

Throughout the evening, we drank, ate, and played games. We took our time, and Stephanie and Tony did a bang-up job of making sure every course of the meal ran smoothly. The amount of food was overwhelming, but everything was delicious. We paced ourselves between courses with rounds of bananagrams and conversation. It was a lovely evening.

Seoul Weekend

This past weekend, I went to visit two of my college friends, Greg and Babbie, in Seoul. It was the first time since I arrived in Pohang that I had ventured outside of my city. I knew I needed it. I knew it would be good for me. Looking out the window as we pulled out of the intercity bus terminal and into the Korean countryside, I became light. A smile spread across my lips reminiscent of the one I felt overtake me when my airplane first began it's decent into Incheon international airport back on the first of August. The feeling spread through me beginning with that smile--of adventure, of independence, of anything being possible if only I make the choice to take a leap. I began to feel life overtaking me in the best way that it can, when the wholeness of the spirit is felt, and there is nothing for you but to feel true joy, seeping from your pores. The four and a half hour ride was short, and full of thoughts of all the things I might see in the year ahead of me, just beginning. I reminded myself that this feeling is always within reach. I only have to be open to it.

Greg met me at the Dong-Seoul bus depot, in the heart of downtown. He doesn't live in Seoul, but close enough that he's learned a few things about the city. I didn't plan a thing, I just told him I wanted to visit him, and showed up. He took the reigns, and proved to be an adept tour guide. He first took me to Gyeongbokgung Palace. A time capsule in the middle of the bustling metropolis of Seoul, it really was a surreal experience. Such beauty, such intention, such precision and attention to detail in the architecture, artwork, and horticulture. Breathtaking. We walked and walked, took pictures, and absorbed some history. After a time, we sat on a bench in the shade. The sun was bright and the sky was blue, and we passed an hour or so catching up on the last few years, drinking in the calm of the early afternoon and a few days with no obligations. The company was perfect, and a sense of easy comfort was palpable.

That afternoon we ventured to another neighborhood, Insadong, where I was lucky to happen upon some Nagchampa as well as some Korean phrase books which I have been yearning for since day one. We ate bulgogi at a rooftop restaurant on a busy mall, where traditional goods were abundant, and the views were worth the number of stairs it took to arrive at the top. Now well-fed and ready for more sitting, we found a coffee shop where we chatted and waited for Babbie to get in touch with us. She would be arriving in the evening.

We eventually met her in Meyong-Dong, an insane shopping district, thick with people, LED displays, designer brands, and street vendors selling everything from knock-off gucchi sunglasses to bizarre little plastic characters in action poses--some dangling from springing cords designed to dangle in window fronts. It was a sensory overload.

While we waited for Babbie, Greg bought me a delicious pastry from a street vendor, reminding me of elephant ears and funnel cake. It had a sweet and cinnamon taste, warm and sticky.

Babbie and her friends arrived and we feasted on spicy dahk galbi: chicken grilled at the table with vegetables and spices. They drank soju, but I had already learned to avoid it. I had a beer.

Greg and I elected to depart from their group at this point and head to the jimjabang, where we would be staying for the night. We were exhausted. For those unfamiliar, a jimjabang is the Korean version of the public bath, but is also so much more. There are many spas of course (separated by gender) where massages and body scrubs and other services are available, but that's only the beginning. This particular jimjabang also had a rooftop movie theater and garden, an arcade, a restaurant, several common areas, sleeping rooms, a swimming pool, an ice room, additional clothed co-ed saunas, outdoor spas, and a full gym. The entrance fee? About $10.

After our respective spa-ing and unwinding, we met again in the common area. We played some games I had brought, ate ice cream, and gradually became too tired to sit up any longer. We retired to our respective sleeping quarters. I awoke the next morning refreshed. I took a spa, showered, and packed to go. We met up with the rest of the crew and decided on an easy day. We made it to an Asian art museum, but took our time. The sun and blue sky had left us and as we each carried our umbrellas, the rain falling all around us, I breathed in a reminder of home. We walked more, and rode the metro. We ate Italian food and then sat in food-coma state while we felt the warmth of a good weekend wash over us in quiet repose. We talked of the week ahead--the Korean thanksgiving holiday right in the middle of it, giving us 3 extra days off. I felt it had been a good weekend, but welcomed the idea of my bed and my space. I thought of future weekend trips and smiled to myself. There is so much life to explore.

Bus Exploration, Number 1

On Saturday, I felt determined and eager to set out, by myself, into the unknown. I didn't know where to go or how to begin, so I decided to make it easy. I found my bus route map, chose a route that I could see had a wide breadth of north to south distance, the 107, and decided to ride it to the end of the line, both ways. I packed a sandwich and my ipod, my camera and a book for good measure. It was drizzly but warm, and the air smelled of rain.

Me and my anonymous companions passed through the busy downtown of Pohang and into the countryside. We wove in and out of suburbs and rice fields, watching the sunlight weave in and out of clouds. We drove on city streets and highways, and I tried to follow our progress on the map. Difficult, as it was all in Korean, as were most of the road signs.

We arrived at one end of the line, and I got off, looked around, and wondered as to my best course of action. I really didn't know where I was, and my initial plan had been to just hop another bus of the same route back the way I came. However, I as I watched other buses come in and out of the depot, I thought that maybe I was up for grabbing a different route number, and see where it would take me. I couldn't read the time tables though, and two buses had already come and gone. I began to tell myself I would hop on the next one, no matter what it was. The next bus to pull up was a 107, my route. I was a little disappointed and began to reconsider, but I only had a moment to make the choice. As I debated, I saw a mi-gook (American) hop onto the bus. Meeting people was not the objective of this venture, but I had admittedly been feeling lonely the past week, and saw a chance. That, and I can't yet seem to release my insane (and insatiable) desire to attempt connection whenever possible. I'm working on it. But at this moment, I laid that aside, went with my gut, and followed him on.

His name was Marshall. He was in Korea with a program called Epik English (one I had considered, amazingly), and would be staying for five months teaching at a small hagwan outside the city. He was 21, in his mid-college years at Michigan State University. I told of him my incredible propensity to meet people from Michigan wherever I go. He laughed. We chatted in a friendly manner for the next hour or so before we began to near his small town. We exchanged info and said we would try to reconnect sometime. I don't doubt it. But that's just how it is here--foreigners connect to one another, and stay connected.

I said goodbye to Marshall and put my headphones on and listened to the rich timbre of Alice Russell's soulful voice, drifting in and out of my thoughts. I began to wish it were always that easy to talk to strangers here. And by that, I mean Koreans. I wished that I didn't feel a pull to talk to every foreigner I see simply because I don't have the option of talking to most Koreans--we just don't have the tools. There's that whole language barrier thing. I began to wish I had studied Korean for at least a year before I came. I began to think about how maybe I'm not trying hard enough to connect to locals, and I'm only reaching out to foreigners because of some silly fear or something like it.

...but then I wondered about what just happened as well as all the interactions I'd had with other foreigners I had met up to this point. I had quite enjoyed Marshall, as well as the other friends I've had the met since I arrived here. I began to wonder as to weather the simple ease and approachability in our interactions would hold out if it were a possibility to communicate with just about anyone--if there were no language barrier.

I began to think to myself, maybe I should stop wishing for things and just be where I am now. Stop fighting with my frustration, and really enjoy things as they are.

After all, where I am now is pretty nice.