Organization. I dig it. It's my kind of deal.
Schedules, calendars, daily-planners: my best friends.
And I definitely booked my ferry to Korea without them.
Initially, in flying to East Asia, I had booked my flight to Japan with the idea that I would magically whisk myself north west, directly to the city of Seoul, where I would finally meet up with a good old piece of home in the form of my friend Tristan. At this point in my New Zealand life, the idea of seeing someone familiar was unbelievably appealing to me. Especially since, at that point, the idea of Asia by myself was also admitedly intimidating. I desperately wanted to go, but I deperately needed something to propell me there, and at least an inkling of security. Home=security. Tristan=home. And off I went.
What I quickly realized when I arrived in Asia, was that I was fine. I've only ever traveled alone, and my travelers-common-sense (whatever the hell that is) did not mysteriously disappear in a new atmosphere. In fact, it only heightened those senses, whatever they are, and felt like the best game I've ever played...almost as good as driving on the left side of the road.
What had begun as a trip to see Tristan in Seoul, turned out to be a month long stay in Japan and a waltz around Korea on my own before finally, the week before my flight to Canada, I moseyed up to Seoul.
(Moseyed....on the KTX Bullet train at 300km per hour)
Seoul! 23 million people in this vast, vaaaast, and surprisingly mountainous city, with 10 million people living in the city centre alone! How the hell was I about to find Tristan through all these people and buildings? Easy. He found me. I don't know how, but he did (although maybe it was because I was the only westerner for miles and had a stupidly huge red backpack on...but it could have just been a stroke of good luck).
But, regardless of how we found each other, just as I had expected, it was so goddamn nice to see someone from home. Both being pretty talktative people, we basically went to town, flipping out about how incredible Korean culture is, and all of our adventures abroad.
After my relaxed visit to Gyeongju, I was ready for this city, whether or not it was ready for me.
(which...by the way, I kind of forgot to mention this...the second day I had landed in Korea, my ATM card as well as my BACK UP bank card completely stopped working. Korea definitely playing games with me. After a million phone calls in the middle of the night due to time differences, Western Union pulled through—after two attempts—with a limited amount of my money that I somehow had to make last until I left the country...but not before I spent almost a week without any access to cash.
What it had come down to, in my last week in Asia, was that I really just wanted to chill on the hyper-tourist-mode. Seoul is a city. A great city! But, a city. And I was ready to get down with some day-to-day normal things, with maybe a temple in between, but mostly some good food, a few drinks, and a lot of chilling and chatting with friends. City stuff.
And that's exactly what went down.
In fact, I had more friends in Korea than I initially thought. My first night in town, Tristan brought me down where all the foreigners party (a section of the city called Itaewan) and here we are walking down the street in the middle of the night, in the middle of Seoul, in the middle of 23 million Koreans, and I ran smack into Cape Cod.
Cape Cod in the form of the Scandurra family. Rosie and Leah Scandurra, are not only from Cape Cod, but they are from Barnstable, and not just Barnstable here, we're talking the village of West Barnstable. My village. My beloved village. I graduated high school with their brother, Dave. Their mother was my CCD teacher. And I—by COMPLETE coincidence—ran into them on a dark side street. Rosie teaches English there, but she doesn't even live in Seoul! She lives in Busan, which is hours away! They were in Seoul for the WEEKEND and I RAN into them!
What do you even say to people in those situations?
“Nice to see you?”
“How's your mom?”
“I'm confused. I feel like I should sit down in the street. For 10 minutes.”
We decided we'd just embrace the confusion and take a picture together to send home.
Magic.
Life in Seoul was off to a great start, and Tristan was the best American host known to man—gaining at least 10 points for being equally as obsessed with Korean food as I am. Most things we planned for the week revolved around what and when we would eat and drink. I was all about this. During the day, Tristan went to work at his school (which I visited on a daily basis...and where I actually almost accepted a job) and while Tristan worked, I explored.
Mostly, I hit up the ever ridculous and crowded Asian markets searching for my final souveneirs for my family.......
........also managing to run past a palace for the changing of the guards, as well as a few protests against U.S. beef imports, and a tea ceremony festival. (you know, the usual)
I love it here.
Within a few days, Tristan's girlfriend Katie finally caught her flight to Seoul, after lining up a really sweet job teaching conversational English to business men and bored housewives. And I'm just gonna say right now, Katie rules.
She plowed through her jet lag like a champ, with limited nap time, and stupidly late nights in downtown Seoul. Then again, late “night” doesn't exactly fit when you get home at 8am. 
The bars are hot til about 5am, until the dreaded hours of confusion, i.e. sunrise, i.e. better find a 24 hour establishment to pass out in til the subway system opens again.
It was then, on our 8am journey back to our apartment from the bars, that I realized I had come a long way since leaving home. Winter on the Cod? Bed at 8pm. Spring in Korea? Bed at 8am.
I'm finally acting my own age. I think this trip might just have been worth it.
It also helps when Seoul officially has some of the coolest bars I have ever encountered...and the reason why they are even cooler than some of the coolest in New York City or LA? There is almost no such thing as a cover charge. There is no such thing as last call. Apparently there is one “western style” bar that pretends to have a “last call,” where the barman rings a bell and “tells everyone to go home”.....aaaand then continues serving until 7am.
Beat that. I dare you.
We went to a bar with wooden swings hanging from the ceiling.
We went to a bar that felt like a Dr Seuss book.
And our favorite, was a little cubby hole shaped as a robot that served all drinks for under $4 and in plastic bags.
The thing is, as any good Korean will tell you—it's all about service. The bars stay open as long as there is someone there—they will never close the doors on you, and the drinks will just keep coming. Going to dinner with a Korean can sometimes be a slightly intimidating experience. What they see as normal standards of service and how to achieve it, looks to me like a game called “let's humiliate the waitress.” Men, in particular, will use any means to get their waiter or waitress at their table. You liked the kimchi? MORE. You see the meat cooking on the tabletop grill? TURN IT OVER NOW. I could be wrong, perhaps it is the company I was keeping?
I suppose this is why it's dangerous to ever eat every drop of your dish. If your plate looks clean, it means that they didn't serve you enough. For the westerners who are taught not to waste food, it becomes quite the predicament. I've never seen as much food waste as I did in Korea. The government has actually attempted to step in, limiting side dishes, and excess, however, the Koreans, in their deep seated traditions, would have no part of it.
Their history may not be visible by physical artifacts and architecture, but their cultural traditions have withstood throughout the country's innumerable ups and downs.
A male dominated society?
You bet.
Again, examples of a country still catching up with itself—especially socially. Dating is more of a courtship process, women are sometimes paid nearly half of what a man makes in the same position, and of course, the golden rule: don't screw with your elders.
Confucianism is strong in Korea--a social hierarchy that dictates every move that you make—from where (or if) you sit on the bus, to when your drink is poured.
(and it is always poured: one never pours a drink for themselves.....AND THIS....THIS is a problem when ordering coffee. Just let ME pour my milk in. PLEASE. I know how much I want. Not you. Not ever. Just let go for a second. Let go of the carton. Let go. Drop it. No, really, please hand it to me. If you ruin this coffee that I just paid $3.50 for, I might have to kill you, and that would be terrible, so GIVE me the carton of milk NOW, for the LOVE of JESUS! ................................aaaaand this is the part where the poor deer-in-headlights-Korean woman looks at me, saying, “milk?” before dumping cream and sugar into my coffee, and handing me my coffee with two hands and a small bow.)
Thus, steering clear of all things western, Tristan and I continued on our Korean food mission.
........although we may or many not have gone a little overboard on Katie's first night by blindly ordering a salad in a red, spicy, ice bath with sesame seeds, chopped asian pear and squid.
Squid that was so fresh, it was still moving on our plates.
I wish I were kidding.
Actually, not really.
It was awesome.
After that, we had to get Katie something else to eat, because really, that whole experience was understandably a little overwhelming.
I guess there was no real sense in asking her if she wanted the dog meat soup later that week...
(ps the meat was bad, the stock and all other things soup was incredible. Koreans prize the fattiest part of the meat, and this being a specialty soup, the meat was...eh..not so meaty. well...at least we know the dogs are fed well?)
Go big or go home, right?
Speaking of going home. This was it. And just after being coerced into an interview at Tristan's English school, as well as a session as “Teacher Linzy,” with a bunch of adorable 5 year old Koreans, I literally walked out of the room, went on to the school computer, and received an email that my job back home was no longer my job.
This is not something you want to hear directly before stepping on a plane with a significantly smaller bank account, and hopes of familiarity.
This is also not something I could allow myself to lose my mind over.
Besides, I still had time on the west coast of the states before actually landing in Boston, and I basically refused to let anything ruin it. I left this country under a significant amount of stress. I left. I grew. And I refuse to come back in the same state as when I first got on that plane from home.
I will not freak out about going to America. I will not freak out about going to America. I will not freak out about going to America.
good thing my flight lands in Canada.
Schedules, calendars, daily-planners: my best friends.
And I definitely booked my ferry to Korea without them.
Initially, in flying to East Asia, I had booked my flight to Japan with the idea that I would magically whisk myself north west, directly to the city of Seoul, where I would finally meet up with a good old piece of home in the form of my friend Tristan. At this point in my New Zealand life, the idea of seeing someone familiar was unbelievably appealing to me. Especially since, at that point, the idea of Asia by myself was also admitedly intimidating. I desperately wanted to go, but I deperately needed something to propell me there, and at least an inkling of security. Home=security. Tristan=home. And off I went.
What I quickly realized when I arrived in Asia, was that I was fine. I've only ever traveled alone, and my travelers-common-sense (whatever the hell that is) did not mysteriously disappear in a new atmosphere. In fact, it only heightened those senses, whatever they are, and felt like the best game I've ever played...almost as good as driving on the left side of the road.
What had begun as a trip to see Tristan in Seoul, turned out to be a month long stay in Japan and a waltz around Korea on my own before finally, the week before my flight to Canada, I moseyed up to Seoul.
(Moseyed....on the KTX Bullet train at 300km per hour)
Seoul! 23 million people in this vast, vaaaast, and surprisingly mountainous city, with 10 million people living in the city centre alone! How the hell was I about to find Tristan through all these people and buildings? Easy. He found me. I don't know how, but he did (although maybe it was because I was the only westerner for miles and had a stupidly huge red backpack on...but it could have just been a stroke of good luck).
But, regardless of how we found each other, just as I had expected, it was so goddamn nice to see someone from home. Both being pretty talktative people, we basically went to town, flipping out about how incredible Korean culture is, and all of our adventures abroad.
After my relaxed visit to Gyeongju, I was ready for this city, whether or not it was ready for me.(which...by the way, I kind of forgot to mention this...the second day I had landed in Korea, my ATM card as well as my BACK UP bank card completely stopped working. Korea definitely playing games with me. After a million phone calls in the middle of the night due to time differences, Western Union pulled through—after two attempts—with a limited amount of my money that I somehow had to make last until I left the country...but not before I spent almost a week without any access to cash.
What it had come down to, in my last week in Asia, was that I really just wanted to chill on the hyper-tourist-mode. Seoul is a city. A great city! But, a city. And I was ready to get down with some day-to-day normal things, with maybe a temple in between, but mostly some good food, a few drinks, and a lot of chilling and chatting with friends. City stuff.
And that's exactly what went down.
In fact, I had more friends in Korea than I initially thought. My first night in town, Tristan brought me down where all the foreigners party (a section of the city called Itaewan) and here we are walking down the street in the middle of the night, in the middle of Seoul, in the middle of 23 million Koreans, and I ran smack into Cape Cod.
Cape Cod in the form of the Scandurra family. Rosie and Leah Scandurra, are not only from Cape Cod, but they are from Barnstable, and not just Barnstable here, we're talking the village of West Barnstable. My village. My beloved village. I graduated high school with their brother, Dave. Their mother was my CCD teacher. And I—by COMPLETE coincidence—ran into them on a dark side street. Rosie teaches English there, but she doesn't even live in Seoul! She lives in Busan, which is hours away! They were in Seoul for the WEEKEND and I RAN into them!
What do you even say to people in those situations?
“Nice to see you?”
“How's your mom?”
“I'm confused. I feel like I should sit down in the street. For 10 minutes.”
We decided we'd just embrace the confusion and take a picture together to send home.
Magic.
Life in Seoul was off to a great start, and Tristan was the best American host known to man—gaining at least 10 points for being equally as obsessed with Korean food as I am. Most things we planned for the week revolved around what and when we would eat and drink. I was all about this. During the day, Tristan went to work at his school (which I visited on a daily basis...and where I actually almost accepted a job) and while Tristan worked, I explored.
Mostly, I hit up the ever ridculous and crowded Asian markets searching for my final souveneirs for my family.......
........also managing to run past a palace for the changing of the guards, as well as a few protests against U.S. beef imports, and a tea ceremony festival. (you know, the usual)
I love it here.
Within a few days, Tristan's girlfriend Katie finally caught her flight to Seoul, after lining up a really sweet job teaching conversational English to business men and bored housewives. And I'm just gonna say right now, Katie rules.
She plowed through her jet lag like a champ, with limited nap time, and stupidly late nights in downtown Seoul. Then again, late “night” doesn't exactly fit when you get home at 8am. 
The bars are hot til about 5am, until the dreaded hours of confusion, i.e. sunrise, i.e. better find a 24 hour establishment to pass out in til the subway system opens again. It was then, on our 8am journey back to our apartment from the bars, that I realized I had come a long way since leaving home. Winter on the Cod? Bed at 8pm. Spring in Korea? Bed at 8am.
I'm finally acting my own age. I think this trip might just have been worth it.
It also helps when Seoul officially has some of the coolest bars I have ever encountered...and the reason why they are even cooler than some of the coolest in New York City or LA? There is almost no such thing as a cover charge. There is no such thing as last call. Apparently there is one “western style” bar that pretends to have a “last call,” where the barman rings a bell and “tells everyone to go home”.....aaaand then continues serving until 7am.
Beat that. I dare you.
We went to a bar with wooden swings hanging from the ceiling.
We went to a bar that felt like a Dr Seuss book.
And our favorite, was a little cubby hole shaped as a robot that served all drinks for under $4 and in plastic bags.
The thing is, as any good Korean will tell you—it's all about service. The bars stay open as long as there is someone there—they will never close the doors on you, and the drinks will just keep coming. Going to dinner with a Korean can sometimes be a slightly intimidating experience. What they see as normal standards of service and how to achieve it, looks to me like a game called “let's humiliate the waitress.” Men, in particular, will use any means to get their waiter or waitress at their table. You liked the kimchi? MORE. You see the meat cooking on the tabletop grill? TURN IT OVER NOW. I could be wrong, perhaps it is the company I was keeping?
I suppose this is why it's dangerous to ever eat every drop of your dish. If your plate looks clean, it means that they didn't serve you enough. For the westerners who are taught not to waste food, it becomes quite the predicament. I've never seen as much food waste as I did in Korea. The government has actually attempted to step in, limiting side dishes, and excess, however, the Koreans, in their deep seated traditions, would have no part of it.
Their history may not be visible by physical artifacts and architecture, but their cultural traditions have withstood throughout the country's innumerable ups and downs.
A male dominated society?
You bet.Again, examples of a country still catching up with itself—especially socially. Dating is more of a courtship process, women are sometimes paid nearly half of what a man makes in the same position, and of course, the golden rule: don't screw with your elders.
Confucianism is strong in Korea--a social hierarchy that dictates every move that you make—from where (or if) you sit on the bus, to when your drink is poured.
(and it is always poured: one never pours a drink for themselves.....AND THIS....THIS is a problem when ordering coffee. Just let ME pour my milk in. PLEASE. I know how much I want. Not you. Not ever. Just let go for a second. Let go of the carton. Let go. Drop it. No, really, please hand it to me. If you ruin this coffee that I just paid $3.50 for, I might have to kill you, and that would be terrible, so GIVE me the carton of milk NOW, for the LOVE of JESUS! ................................aaaaand this is the part where the poor deer-in-headlights-Korean woman looks at me, saying, “milk?” before dumping cream and sugar into my coffee, and handing me my coffee with two hands and a small bow.)
Thus, steering clear of all things western, Tristan and I continued on our Korean food mission.
........although we may or many not have gone a little overboard on Katie's first night by blindly ordering a salad in a red, spicy, ice bath with sesame seeds, chopped asian pear and squid.
Squid that was so fresh, it was still moving on our plates.
I wish I were kidding.
Actually, not really.
It was awesome.
After that, we had to get Katie something else to eat, because really, that whole experience was understandably a little overwhelming.
I guess there was no real sense in asking her if she wanted the dog meat soup later that week...
(ps the meat was bad, the stock and all other things soup was incredible. Koreans prize the fattiest part of the meat, and this being a specialty soup, the meat was...eh..not so meaty. well...at least we know the dogs are fed well?)
Go big or go home, right?
Speaking of going home. This was it. And just after being coerced into an interview at Tristan's English school, as well as a session as “Teacher Linzy,” with a bunch of adorable 5 year old Koreans, I literally walked out of the room, went on to the school computer, and received an email that my job back home was no longer my job.
This is not something you want to hear directly before stepping on a plane with a significantly smaller bank account, and hopes of familiarity.
This is also not something I could allow myself to lose my mind over.
Besides, I still had time on the west coast of the states before actually landing in Boston, and I basically refused to let anything ruin it. I left this country under a significant amount of stress. I left. I grew. And I refuse to come back in the same state as when I first got on that plane from home.
I will not freak out about going to America. I will not freak out about going to America. I will not freak out about going to America.
good thing my flight lands in Canada.
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