The Rest of the Story

I'm going to finish this thread if it kills me. And it might.

I need to make sure I properly rave about the town by Haeinsa, though. I'm not even sure what it's called...Haein, or something that starts with a "c"...I don't know; my map's not that detailed. Maybe it should just be called Eden. It was small and sleepy and ran down the side of a mountain...not sure if that's enough to make it wonderful, but something was right. I felt like I was in Pennsylvania, a good feeling indeed.

Luckily, we found an open restaurant. It was only 8:30 on Saturday night, but despite the bars and noraebang up and down the street, the place seemed to have pulled in the sidewalks and gone into hibernation. As will happen here, though, a guy outside his restaurant beckoned us in (and then sat and watched tv while his wife, who looked less happy to see us, cooked and served). Korean restaurants always give you side dishes, but it's usually kimchi, Grandmas-kitchen-yellow radishes, and maybe something palatable. At this place, the lady brought out a tray probably double the circumference of her arms, with a dozen or so little dishes on it. All were vegetables, and, other than the kimchi, there was maybe one that was awful! The worst looking option turned out to be the most addictive--I thought it was some kind of seafood, but it was tempura'd sweet potato skins. Mmm! We were seated under a painting of black pigs on a traditional Korean farm, the sort of thing grocery stores sold in the '70s; and a tiger in a black velvet sort of palette. Stuff I could decorate my stairwell with!

We walked around town after dinner, up into the residential section and through the dark streets. It felt like home, where people go to bed at night, and the gentle smell of fallen leaves hangs in the air. Wispy clouds dashed across the sky, leaving room for a kaleidoscopic view of vivid stars. The air had a late-autumn sharpness to it, and the rush of the stream by the main road was louder than any human-generated noise. Hugging the little town's boundaries, with fingers reaching in in spots, was thick, sloping forest. It was oxygen for my soul. I couldn't get enough. Literally. After Sarah & Obi headed in, I did another winding lap, pausing regularly to be still and drink it all in. I found the school (how would it be to be the native teacher there?), and followed the road that rose along its fenceline. It led past a humbler cluster of houses, and over a cement bridge, where I stood for a long time watching a trickle of water juke around flat rocks. Going home to Rochester seemed agreeable, but not imperative. Where else would I rather be than right here, right now? All the way back to the hotel, I kept tilting my head back, trying to stop time with those starts all above me.

Haeinsa itself was quite nice, if not as inspiring. All summer, I was perpetually on the verge of being jaded by rocks; now it's temples. Difference was, the rocks all had distinct identities. The temples are like Wegmans--not entirely interchangeable, but made up of all the same parts, and always packed to the gills. At this one, you could even get Dippin' Dots. Still, we appreciated the architecture and the statues and the stunningly sunny day. Haeinsa is famous for the Tripitaka Koreana, which is more impressive to hear about than to see. It's (they're?) housed in a building with slatted walls, and all you can do is look in through the slats and say, "Hmm. How 'bout that?" I'm glad I saw it. I'm glad it wasn't all Haeinsa had going for it.

All during our temple visit, and the previous evening, there were particles in the air that none of us could identify. Pollen? From where? Snow? It was cold enough, but again, from where? The sky was virtually cloudless. Yellow dust? It's known for blowing in from the Gobi Desert, but that didn't seem right either. We never did figure it out.

Eventually, it was time to bus back to Daegu (and the beginning of a stultifying 8-hour journey). In both Haeinsa and Daegu, we were hardly off the beaten tourist track, but were cognizant of a lot more staring than we get in Seoul. I think my favorite bit was on Daegu's subway, where late-middle aged Korean couple had a REALLY extended conversation about my convertible glove/mittens. One half-covered hand was clinging to the handle above them and they traversed the city puzzling out how it works. Of course, I couldn't understand anything they said, but their gestures were most informative. When, after several stops, they'd exhausted the subject, they noticed Lumphy peeking from my pocket. Wonder what's the Korean equivalent of "Hey, Marge!"

Speaking of which, we came up with a brilliant marketing idea for anyone looking to make a quick killing in Asian business. Snuggies!! I haven't seen one anywhere here, and they seem like the perfect fit. The kids already walk around school with fleece blankets draped over them. Snuggies would be the perfect marriage of gimmick & practicality. Marketing them here would be like selling fish to polar bears. And, according to their website, if you order one today, they'll send you a second absolutely free (except for another $8 shipping & handling...yeah, check the definition of "absolutely"). Who's in?