Amanda Takes Off...

In Ulleungdo, Sister and I were people watching in the square. A Korean kid, upper-elementary age, pointed at me and screamed, "Oh my God, a foreigner!"

I pointed back at him and said, "Wow, a Korean."

"Really?" he asked. I realized that the lack of subjects and objects in the Korean language made him think I said I was Korean. What a dumb kid.

He walked over to his friends and started pointing at me. They were all in shirts that indicated they were on some trip for some group or another, and that group was located in Gangnam. There was no reason for this kid to be shocked at the sight of a foreigner. I mumbled to Sister, "He's never seen a foreigner before today? What is he, a country boy?"

The man sitting next to Sister puffed on his cigarette and said, "She speaks Korean very well."

I shook my head no, Sister told him yes, and the man stamped out his cigarette and left.

At dinner at the fish market, a family was sitting at the table behind us. I turned around to look at something and saw the boy at the table staring at me. I held his gaze. He didn't point or scream. Since I could tell he was curious, but he wasn't being rude, I finally said in English, "Hi."

"Hi," he said. He said it normally, without pointing or giggling.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine thank you." He turned to his parents, who coached him a little more, "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

He paused. "Are you an English teacher?"

"No." I smiled, knowing that would not be what he was expecting.

We continued on for a few minutes in English before I switched over to Korean and spoke with the whole family. They were from Anseong. "I've been there!" I said excitedly.

"No, no," Mother said, "not Ansan—"

"Right, ㅇㅏㄴㅅㅓㅇ," I spelled out. "[Good Man] and I went there for a..." I looked at Sister and said in English, "Festival?"

"축제."

"Ahhh," the father in the family said, "the Baudeogi Festival!"

"Yes! Anseong is so beautiful!"

Mother looked at me, "You and [Good Man] traveled a lot together."

And we lied about it every time.

At our motel in Ulleungdo, there are two doors, the main door and the door to the sleeping area. Mother turns on the AC and I close and lock both doors and close the windows. Mother freaks out over the window being closed. I say, "The AC will work better with the window closed." I don't point out that she only runs the AC for five minutes at a time and I'd really like the room to cool down.

When I wake up in the morning, the inner door is open. I know I locked it, so it couldn't've drifted open by itself. I wonder if Mother believes in Fan Death but say nothing.

Mother keeps the house hot. Really hot. Eight degrees and above hot. At night I sleep with a fan on. The fan is too far away to make much of a difference, but it does help a bit. Every morning, the fan is off.

Finally, one morning I say, "Mother, it's hot. I need the fan on at night."

"You will get too cold!"

"No, I'm too hot. I am sweating all the time."

"You will get too cold if the fan is off!"

I nod. "OK, so do you want me to sleep without clothing?"

Mother shakes her head. "I have not been turning the fan off."

"Who has been?"

Sister laughs. "A ghost."

"Please tell the ghost I need the fan on."

Mother shakes her head, "You need to leave the door open."

I have never closed the bedroom door, because Mother has always kept the fan outside of the bedroom, but I don't argue. "I will keep the door open," I said, "and the window, too."

"You are going to get too cold!"

Online, I tell Good Man about the fan issue. "I know," he replies, "she believes in fan death."

Mother likes to watch TV programs that make her cry.

My first day here, we watched a program (Love in Asia) about foreign wives, specifically Southeast Asian wives. A Filipina woman was visiting her family with Korean husband. The husband bought a younger sibling a laptop for school. Mother cried. I asked if she would have let Good Man marry a Southeast Asian woman, she said no way and then cried some more at the program.

Weekday mornings, there's a program that follows one person, or a family, for the week. Last week's program followed a 91-year old woman in Ulleungdo who dives for fish and seafood as a living. (These women are rapidly dying off and it's pretty incredible what they can do.) As is typical in Korea, the woman was referred to as "Grandmother" throughout the entire program.

Mother and I watched the program together. Mother cried at times. I cried at times. And Saturday we headed off to Ulleungdo...

Ulleungdo Fishmarket

The first day of the tour, on the tour bus, Mother looked out the window and said, "This was the view from the program. Mother's house is somewhere up here...

The first night, at dinner, Mother chatted with the waitress about Grandmother and her son (also in the program). The island population is small, so of course our waitress knew who she was.

The next day, before dinner, Mother left. I had been listening to her conversation with Sister, but I was sure I had misheard her. I looked at Sister, "Where'd she go?"

"Guess."

"To find Grandmother's house?"

"Yep."

I laughed. "Really?"

When Mother returned before dinner, she proudly announced she had found the house.

We actually had two dinners that night. First we stopped for some gimbap for me. Mother chatted with ajumma at the restaurant about...Grandmother. Of course.

Raw, Moving Squid

Then we headed to the fish market so Sister and Mother could eat some raw seafood. While Mother was choosing the stall to eat at, I dipped my head down. "Mother, look behind you."

Mother swiveled her head, "Is that her?" She turned to the fishmonger. "Is that Grandmother?"

"Yes."

"아이고, 세상애..." Oh my goodness, oh my God...

Fishmongers

Mother went and introduced herself to Grandmother and all was good in the world. Unfortunately, Grandmother was not down with photos, so I have no proof that Mother really met Grandmother, but this happy look on Mother's face says it all.

"아이고, 세상애..."

Mother won't let me cook (yet), and she's afraid I don't know how to use the subway and will get lost/die/be kidnapped/gorge myself of Dweji Bars if I leave the house alone, so all I've been eating is Korean food. For all of my bitching about Mother bitching about what (when, why, how, how much) I eat, she is trying to be accommodating. Of course, we only got there after Mother lectured me on how fabulous Korean food is and how I should eat it all the time.

I sighed and said, slowly, "Mother, in America we had one American meal. And then we had Thai food with rice. And then we had Korean food. In America, you ate more Korean food than American food. Right?" Mother admitted I was right. "I don't only want American food. I want it sometimes."

"OK."

At breakfast, Mother told me to eat my vegetables. Breakfast was cabbage in an olive oil and vinegar sauce, cucumbers, pepper strips, apple chunks, and an English muffin with strawberry jam. I had eaten most of it, when she was telling me I should make a salad every day or breakfast.

I said, "But usually, in America, we don't eat salads for breakfast."

"Why not?"

I thought for a moment and finally settled on "it's a different country."

"What do you eat?"

"Cereal or oatmeal or bread [Korea's idea of bread is nothing like America's, but I don't go into it], fruit, maybe bacon or eggs, juice, coffee... Sometimes we eat rice with milk and cinnamon."

"Rice with milk?" Sister asked.

"[Good Man] hates it."

Mother asked, "Fruit? What kind of fruit?"

"Apples, bananas, kiwis, strawberries..."

Mother disappeared for a moment and comes back with two bananas in her hand. She sliced the bananas over our salads. Then I watched with disbelief as she rolled her pieces around in the olive oil sauce.

Mother asked what I want to eat and I told her the truth: a sandwich. We settled on left-over curry and I forget about the sandwich. At dinner, Mother told me she's made sandwiches. She handed me two slices of the darkest bread I've ever seen in Korea (which isn't saying much). I looked at the filling. She'd cooked and mashed up potatoes, carrots, scallions, and onions. And this is a fine example of what Koreans think "bread" is.

I asked if she has any black pepper. She said we'll get some at Costco next week.

We're touring Ulleungdo and Dokdo. I knew that food would be included and I knew it would be seafood, seafood, seafood. I hate seafood and fish, with the exception of tuna (canned—I know), but I used to be a vegetarian, so I am used to eating what I can and leaving the rest.

We had some tofu with our lunch, and it was delicious. I asked for more and the server said they didn't have any more. Mother pulled the server aside and said quickly and quietly, "My daughter-in-law is having a hard time with all of the Korean food and doesn't really like fish. Can you please get some more tofu?"

Five minutes later, I got a huge plate filled with hot slabs of tofu, fresh from the kitchen.

We're eating pretty much the same lunch as the day before, except now the soup is too fishy to eat, and I can't bear the thought of a bowl of rice for the fifth meal in a row. Mother tells Sister to go take me to find a sandwich. Neither GS25 nor FamilyMart have sandwiches, so I pick up a jar of fruit salad, some string "cheese," some crackers and some juice. I expect Mother to lecture me about the crackers, but instead she says, "Good, now you can have your cheese. And for dinner, you can have gimbap and we will eat raw octopus."

Last night I headed over to Tongil to visit Master and his family. I'm lucky I managed to escape alone, since Mother is afraid I'll get lost on the subway, I won't know where it is, and I'll get so drunk I'll blow all my money on a taxi coming home.

In fact, Mother told me over lunch that she wants to meet Master. I froze. "I am worried."

"Why?" she asked.

"He knows all of my secrets," I said. Like the fact that we don't want to have kids.

"You have secrets? What secrets?"

But I had promised she could meet him next time. This time, I want to be alone. And she had finally relented, after I'd pointed out, on a subway map, where I would go and how.

Finally, a 70-minute ride across town, I walked out of the subway station and immediately felt at ease. Gwangmyeong is dirty, busy, and loud. I love it.

I headed up to the studio, stopping at the fruit stand I used to shop at to get a watermelon (~$12). It was a small class (because of the summer time) with four students and Sabeomnim the Man. Sabeomnim the Man immediately greeted me and we clapped each other on the backs. Then I heard a deep voice, "Amanda!" and then I heard screaming, "Amanda, Amanda, Amanda!"

I turned and saw the deeper voice was a student I haven't seen in three years. I gasped. "You are so tall!" Then I felt hands on my legs and realized the screamers were Master's kids. "I have gifts," I said. I was surprised his kids remembered me so easily. Last time I saw them they were shy at first and then warmed up to me. This time they knew who I was right away. It warmed my heart.

I was a little early, and Master was busy prepping for an MT (small trip) that starts today, so I waited in the studio with the kids. They were just as I remembered, but taller. Daughter immediately got me some water. Son immediately took my camera. Then they fought over who should get the camera, and showed off a cup full of...something.

Daughter and the Fish (?)

Son

I looked around the studio, which has been greatly remodeled. On my last trip here, Master was worried because a new studio had opened up down the street. I had noticed it was still there, but the remodeling made me think it hadn't affected Master's bottom line.

Soon enough, Master was ready. We headed to his home and the kids tore into their gifts. Before I left America, I went out with my coworker who took the belly dancing classes with me. She's a kindy teacher, and Master's kids are seven and turning-six this year. Since she teaches kids who are five and six, I thought she'd be good to go shopping with, and she was.

We went to a local toy store, which is always far more interesting than a chain toy store. We picked out two hand puppets (a T Rex and a crocodile), and stacking game that requires no English, and some eggs that hatch into toys after being in water for two or three days.

Daughter immediately started trying to smash the egg open. "No, no, I said, we need water." We put them in the water and I showed her how to play the stacking game. You have wooden hedgehogs (or maybe porcupines) that you stack them up as high as you can.

"Daughter, how do you say this in Korean?" I said, pointing to the animal.

She nodded her head. "고슴도치. 고. 슴. 도. 치."

I held out my hand and she wrote the characters out for me. I repeated after her, "고슴도치."

"Good job!"

Playing the Hedgehog Game

We went to the restaurant we've been to several times before, for dalk kalbi. In fact, this is where we had our last dinner together before I left for America, and it's where we had our first dinner together when Good Man and I visited last time. I love this restaurant, and when asked where I want to eat, I immediately mentioned it. I paused and said, "After, I want ice cream. 'My Mother is an Alien.'" Master laughs and I continue, "And I want soju. Mother told me not to drink, but when you meet Master, you have to drink!"

Master nodded. "OK!"

We walked into the restaurant. It was very busy, but when the owners saw me, they greeted me excitedly and asked where my husband was. Master explained that I was traveling alone and we settled down and started chatting about this and that.

When people in America found out I was going to Korea alone for five weeks, and was going to live with my mother-in-law at that, they'd say, "Oh! Well. That will be an adventure!" But the looks on their faces said something else, usually, "Hmm, I wonder if they're having marital problems."

At one point during dinner, Master's Wife told me it is strange that I'm traveling alone without my husband. As a married woman, it is very weird. She is not being mean or rude, she's simply telling me what other people are thinking, but won't say.

I nodded in agreement and explained why I came alone. When I got to the part about wanting to get to know Mother, she said it's a good reason afterall. I finished by pointing out, "I'm not going to meet another man. I'm sleeping at my mother-in-law's house!"

Shortly thereafter, the server called out, "Whaa! I remember when Amanda first came here! She didn't know a lot of Korean and now all of you are just speaking in Korean the whole time! Wow!"

Every (obvious) foreigner who chokes out a few syllables of Korean speaks Korean "well." But to hear that improvement has been seen by someone who's seen me sporadically, several times over the years, well that felt good, I admit.

I asked Master how the kids knew who I was. He said they remember me. I asked how. "It's been a long time."

"Amanda, you are the only foreigner I know," he replied.

I looked at the kids. Daughter had found a comic book and was devouring it isntead of her food. Son was playing with the puppets. He had sparred with the T Rex so much, its head was already loose. Master took the puppet and looked at the tag. "Made in China."

"I know. In America, everything is made in China."

Sabumnim the Man, and Master with the T Rex