Move Over Craig Laban

The owner of a fledgling website contacted me because he had been reading my blogs and asked if I wanted to review restaurants in Seoul. Free dinner at expensive places? Sure why not. I met my contact, Soon Bong Kwon (who I just call Bong for short) in a lovely metro district of Seoul. He's a student of electrical engineering and is trying to compete in the expat networking game. One of the first things he told me is, "This is our first review so just pretend we are professionals," to which I hastily replied, "There is no pretending about it sir. I am a professional." Still, I felt like a con-man the entire time. Well we had dinner and the next day I wrote the review, but at the moment their website is having some technical difficulties and I was unable to post. I'll put a link up to their site whenever it's back online, but in the meantime, here is my debut into the upscale world of restaurant reveiwing for your reading pleasure.

There are few pleasures more uniquely enjoyable than a traditional Korean dinner after strolling through the parks and markets in downtown Seoul. Korean fare is a relaxing, yet interactive pastime where friends gather and memories are made, but finding the perfect Korean restaurant amidst literally thousands of other establishments in the world’s second largest metropolis may prove infeasible. Truthfully, there may be no exact science to finding your favorite place to eat, but with a little exploration and luck you just might find a culinary oasis that is worth going back to a second time.

Do Rim (literally Natural Bean) is a traditional Korean restaurant that specializes in homemade tofu and is located only minutes from Insadong outdoor market. Finding the restaurant is very easy. Stand at ground level with your back to the Exit 1 stairs of Jong-gak subway station. At your two-o-clock you will notice a wide alley leading off and away from the enormous skyscrapers. Follow it. In the time it takes to exchange polite formalities with a new friend the alley will dead-end at a T-intersection. Take a left and then an immediate right into a narrow, brick, alleyway just wide enough for you and a companion. In moments a building with white-tile walls and handsome, grey, oriental roof tiles will appear on your left. Welcome to Do Rim.The interior uses sloping stone floors, dark mahogany walls, and iron-lantern ambiance to manifest a cozy 18th century charm. Small details such as handcrafted doorknobs, brass fitting, and thick oak trusses do not go unnoticed. As with nearly all Korean restaurants, there is adequate floor seating in several simple wooden rooms. If you are a tall foreigner such as myself who can manage sitting cross-legged but do not necessarily enjoy it than prepare to be pleasantly surprised. Outback is a lovely, stone-floored courtyard, livened with potted plants and enchanting murals. Here, there are thick oak tables and chairs in which you can stretch out and lean back, the only distraction a clear blue-sky overhead.

Once seated, do not be surprised if you are greeted and even served by chef/owner, Ki Young Seo. Self-taught in Seoul’s restaurant scene for nearly a decade, Young Seo has been serving contemporary Korean fare in Do Rim for over two years. The menu offered is only in Korean, but Young Seo speaks moderate English and will help you make a regretless selection.

After ordering, Mi-Yuk-Naeng-Dae, a cold seaweed soup, and Kimchi are brought to the table. We also enjoyed a milky-brown and lightly carbonated beverage called Dong Dong Ju. It is similar to Makali in that it is somewhat sour and consumed from a bowl.
The main course was Dubu la Galbi, meaty beef ribs, brazed and served on the bone in a pear, onion, kiwi, and sesame au jus. The texture was sinewy and with a little too much fat, but flavorful and delicious all the same. This course came with an ample portion of the house’s own tofu on the side. Made fresh everyday, this thick, consistent soy cake, soaked in the rib au jus, made for an unforgettably delectable indulgence.
Next was Kimchi-Jun, a flat, pan-fried cake of cabbage, carrot, mushroom, pumpkin, onion, and diced garlic with a red pepper and soy dipping sauce. With an outstanding combination of flavors and a crispy, fried texture this course makes for a new, instant favorite.
The third, final, and most intriguing course of the evening was a Sam-Hap sampling. Perched atop a small base of boiled pork was a strip of pickled thornback, a type of ray fish. The dish was finished with a precisely placed bit of spicy Kimchi. Consumed in one bite, this expensive treat can be described as both mild and musty with a sweet, ammonia-like after-taste. It is certainly not a dish for a delicate palette, but for those with an adventurous inclination, Sam-Hap is a rarity that cannot be over-looked.
You may finish your meal at Do Rim as the stars begin to appear in the night sky. Leaving the majestic courtyard is difficult, especially if there is a morsel of Kimchi-Jun left. You may want to pass a few more hours in the old-fashioned eatery, sipping on Dong Dong Ju or talking food with Ki Young Seo. Procrastination is a virtue here. Know however, that when the time does come to depart, Do Rim is one of those restaurants you’ll be back for a second time.

Cool Thing About Korea #21: The architecture in Seoul is absolutely stunning and first world. This Samsung skyscraper is but one of many awesome examples.

Fun With Copyright Infringment!

Since there was more money in my bank account than has been in quite some time I shrugged off all notions of fiscal responsibility and headed to Songton to blow some cash. I picked up a few gifts but what I really needed were clothes for the beach. I like shopping around the military base because I can always haggle the shop owners down to the point of desperation. "C'mon, 25,000 Won for a polo shirt? You're breaking my balls sir. I'll give you 10,000." After talking an older gentleman down 15,000 on a pair of cargo shorts I noticed a tear stream down his cheek as he informed me that he would be unable to eat that night. I played the world's tiniest violin while triumphantly marching out of his store. Tucked into an obscure back alley I came across a treasure trove of corny tropical shirts on clearance at only 5,000 Won a piece. Ravenously I tore through the rack, hoarding armfuls of brightly colored, floral print button downs. I was practically foaming at the mouth as I hauled my obnoxious bounty to the cashier.

Taking advantage of shop owners wasn't the only reason I went to Songton. There was of course the weekly hash. It was only my second time running with the Osan Base Hash House Harriers and there were significantly less attendees than when we ran on the 4th of July, but that just made it easier to get friendly with some of the more dedicated members. After a harrowing six mile run through humid farmlands and goat farms we regrouped at the Lion's Den for beer, club formalities, and conversation.

The real high-light of my weekend began on Sunday. Matt has been droning on and on about wanting to replay Final Fantasy 7. I can't say I blame him. Anyone who's ever mashed the buttons on a video game controller likely recognizes Square Soft's masterpiece as one of the best games of all time. I tried to download both the official PC release and a Playstation emulator with FF7 Rom but after expected technical difficulties we decided to check out the electronics market in Yongsan. Additionally, I was interested in having my XBOX360 modified...a hush hush operation that I've heard Yongsan is known for.

The market in Yongson is huge. You can buy just about any component that electrical current passes through at discount prices; from motherboards and beta-max to televisions and turn-tables. The first large concourse we happened upon was home to merchants of computer parts. Over half an acre, both indoors and out, were tables stacked with processors, cases, keyboards, webcams, cooling units, video cards, monitors, powers supplies, and so forth. I admit to knowing very little regarding the technical aspects of computer assembly but I can think of certain dorky friends back home who would blow a cap if they got a chance to shop there.


Right across the street was the underground console game market. For an eighth of a mile there is nothing but Playstaion and XBOX games, cellophane wrapped consoles, huge monitors, and video game memorabilia. I took a couple pictures but the "No Camera" signs forced me to act discreetly. Of course you can buy brand new, stock hardware or officially released games, but these artifacts merely provide a front for the true nature of the market. If you're coming here it's because you want to buy a modified system and bootleg games. A modified system has extra components installed so that it can play games that are copied onto DVD's instead of only games that have been officially released. It is, in essence, copyright infringement. Matt picked up a modified Playstation 2 for only 100,000 Won, but being unable to track down an English version of Final Fantasy 7, he settled for FFX.

Having been satisfied with the legitimacy of the black market operations I returned the next day with my 360 carefully tucked into a backpack. It would cost only 60,000 Won to have my unit modified. This procedure adds a special chip to the motherboard and a larger, more efficient cooling unit. Once modified, my XBOX would be able to read bootleg games that cost only 10,000 Won at any of the numerous vendors in the market. I convinced the proprietor to sell me five games and the modification for an even 100,000. Once a deal is struck the owner of the store makes a phone call. Minutes later a shady looking courier, riding a skatboard and smoking a cigarette, arrives, tucks your system into a satchel, and takes off to some shifty backroom workshop...the location of which I can not even begin to guess. While my $400 XBOX was having its warranty voided I decided to peruse the market for rarities. Some note-worthy consoles included a CD-i, Famicoms, a 3DO, original Gameboys, a Panasonic manufactured Gamecube, and Sega Saturns.

But the absolutely coolest console in the market was a custom, liquid cooled XBOX 360. When the mods to my XBOX were complete, the owner of the store tested everything for me and satisfied with the upgrades, I paid the man. I left the market with an improved machine and five of the best XBOX 360 games for less than what it would cost to buy two games legally. I don't know how they get away with it but god bless them.

For some reason or another I'm supposed to be at work from Monday to Wednesday this week but since I don't actually have any work to do I still consider myself on vacation. Besides some Filipino painters I think I'm the only person in the building. I'm wasting time by reading the Harry Potter series, watching movies, testing the threshold of my classroom speakers with Iron Maiden, blogging, and playing XBOX games on the projector. I could probably just not show up at all if I wanted but they are paying me a lot of money to do stuff I would usually do for free and I would hate to let them down.


Cool Thing About Korea #20: Gonna have to go with Yongsan electronics market.

on the Logistics of Zombie Survival

It has often occurred to me how frequently people either overestimate their abilities to survive against the undead or simply don't place a great deal of importance on such attributes. The harsh reality is that our modern world has fostered countless catalysts for an undead apocalypse; viral weaponry, nuclear fallout, bio-terrorism, martian space dust, genetic experiments, inexplicable plot-devices, and satanic antediluvian texts bound in human skin to name but a few. Because of these reasons I make it a habit to approach every situation as if a flesh-rotting corpse could spring from the shadows and chew out my jugular at any moment. If I am in an unfamiliar building I immediately begin casing the structure for the nearest exits, roof access, potential weapons, choke points, medical supplies, food stores, and so forth. When in the open I am assessing crowd density, terrain, available resources, and likeliest place of sanctuary. When I lived in Pennsylvania I had my survival plan down to a science, such that I could be comfortably holed up with enough provisions for weeks only minutes after spotting a pale, stumbling zombie. Now that I live in Korea everything I took for granted about zombie survival has been thrown out the window and I am forced to formulate a new strategy. I'd like to share with my readers what I have learned regarding the logistics of surviving an undead apocalypse in the Land of the Morning Calm but before elaborating perhaps a detailed account of my prior tactics are in order.

Firstly, this narrative shall assume only the rules about zombies as laid out in films like those by George A. Romero (Except Land of the Dead which sucked...well maybe not Dennis Hopper's part). For instance, zombification occurs only when one is bitten by a zombie, not simply by dying. Also, to kill a zombie one must shoot it in the head or somehow destroy the brain. Lastly, we shall not discuss fast zombies for two reasons. One, surviving hordes of fast zombies would depend more on luck than any degree of skill and two, there is no such thing as fast zombies.

The best house equipped to survive an undead onslaught that I have ever lived in is without question my college apartment in West Chester, Pennsylvania, a quaint town of medium population situated amidst rolling farmlands. At the present my good friends Mike and Gabe still live in the solid brick house perched above Penn's Table restaurant on the corner of Gay and Church. The building had only one entrance from the street, a steep staircase that was accessed from the restaurant's back door. The door itself had glass windows and wasn't altogether sturdy, but at the onset of a zombie outbreak one only had to hurl the refrigerator, washer, dryer, and any other heavy appliance that would cease to work after the inevitable power failure down the steps. The weight of such contrivances against the street-level door would surely be enough to hold back even the most violent horde and if that wasn't enough, the door at the top of the stairs was much stronger and bolted from the inside.

Once secured, any survivors within the apartment must act quickly to prepare for what could be weeks of seclusion. The most obvious thing to procure in such a situation is a weapon. Fortunately, there are those in my circle who do not hesitate to exercise their second amendment rights, I myself preferring a large caliber Springfield automatic with a high-cap magazine. But a firearm will only get you so far. Remember, you will potentially be dealing with thousands of zombies and guns are limited by ammunition, maintenance, and repairs. This is why it's important to search the domicile for anything that can sever or destroy a human head. Some bludgeoning weapons I know were available when I lived in that apartment included a baseball bat, Mag-light flashlight, shower curtain rod, crowbar (probably the most useful bludgeoning weapon as it is equally invaluable when scavenging supplies), and oddly enough a medieval flail that I found in a thrift shop. The latter, despite being a replica, was sturdy enough for continuous combat and was more than effective in decimating a human cranium.

Food and water are also top priority items. All perishable food should be eaten first and things that can be preserved should be carefully rationed. All containers such as milk jugs, laundry detergent bottles, sinks, and tubs should be emptied, cleaned, and filled with water before the electricity goes out and pumps stop working.

Communications with friends and relatives should be attempted while mobile phones, Internet, and other infrastructures are still intact to notify them of a safe refuge. The apartment had one strong door leading to the roof that could only be opened from the inside. Survivors who manage to make it through the swarms of undead and to the apartment could access the roof via a clandestine fire exit and thus to safety. Access to the rooftop is helpful in that it allows one to scour and loot neighboring apartment buildings for provisions as well as contact other survivors. I maintain the policy that all survivors seeking refuge shall have it provided they undergo a full body examination for bite marks.

Sooner or later you will have to leave the safety of your refuge to find sustenance or weapons and a knowledge of your surroundings is an integral part of survival. In West Chester I knew that food could be pillaged from one of the hundreds of restaurants in town, weapons could potentially be acquired at the local National Guard post or police station, and secondary fortifications complete with thick walls and generators are only blocks away at the local university.

You can see that I make it my business to asses my surroundings in terms of zombie survivability from minute to minute and this habit remains unchanged despite the fact that I live in Korea. In fact my paranoia has heightened ten fold since landing here. One of the first disadvantages of the peninsula is the extraordinarily high population density in urban areas. The more people the more potential zombies. Secondly there are no civilian firearms in Korea. A couple cops carry small caliber revolvers and of course the military has guns but that's about it. That leaves one to rely solely on bludgeoning weapons to combat four or five times the amount of zombies I am accustomed to preparing for. To this day I have nothing that will serve as a proper weapon should the need arise. Sure there are a few random poles or table legs in my apartment but nothing that will hold up to sustained combat. Also, failing to understand the language makes it nearly impossible to identify places of safety or medical supplies.

My new apartment presents another difficulty. Located on the ground floor of a three story building, the entrance is tucked into the small choke point of a brick alley. The door is solid steel and there are iron bars covering the windows so there should be no problem keeping scores of undead out. The true problem manifests itself in escaping or acquiring provisions. There is no way to store water and seldom do I keep more than a weeks worth of nonperishable laying about. Therefore my domicile is the last place I would consider taking refuge in the event of an outbreak.

Aside from it's obvious disadvantages there are clear benefits to the topography if you know where to look. Escaping urban areas and heading for the countryside is priority number-one. As most vehicles on the road are small, under powered four cylinders I would recommend attempting to commandeer one of the large, eight-wheel drive commercial trucks seen on or around construction sites. These vehicles easily have enough power to push their way through stalled traffic, blood thirsty mobs, and likely carry strong steel tools to use for self-defense. Korea is a country of countless small mountains. Almost all of these mountains are surrounded by thick rice patties, large tracts of thick vegetation and knee-deep mud...the perfect landscape for slowing or snaring scores of flesh-hungry Korean zombies. Additionally, there are many mountains that have large radio installations on the summits (the two closest mountains to me, Chilbo San and Gwangu San both sport these towers) which are enclosed by large barbwire fences, machine gun turrets, and protected by active military patrols. There are dormitory facilities, trucks, generators, communications equiptment, food, and firearms at these facilities. Assuming you can find one of these installations abandoned or are sly enough to talk your way into one they are sure to make the perfect refuge, being located 2000 metres high on steep unnavigable terrain amidst a sea of rice patties and far from densely populated urban areas. What more could you ask for really? It is not a perfect plan, nor is it as refined as my measures developed over years at college, but it is better to have a mediocre plan than no plan at all.

Cool Thing About Korea #19: We had a solar eclipse today, a phenomena of such occultist proclivities as to compliment a zombie commentary rather fittingly.

Socializing with my Co-Workers

Friday:
Wake up at 7:30a.m. Curse myself for staying up till 3a.m. watching Das Boot. Go back to sleep until 7:50a.m. Grab my loaded backpack and walk to bus stop. Catch the #13 bus to Chilbo Middle School. Yawn and stumble to my classroom while giving lethargic high-fives to 14-year-old boys who have too much energy. Unlock classroom door but leave the lights off and collapse in my chair. Eat five small plums and drink a can of coffee while waiting for laptop to boot up. Check e-mail. Check Facebook. Read newspaper. Fall asleep. Get waken by Ms. Huh who informs me that it is time to board the bus. I stretch and yawn as I make my way out of the classroom, locking it and proceed to a large red coach bus parked out front. It is a modern, sleek, road behemoth and has all the bells and whistles. There are comfortable seats for forty at the front and a circular area around a table for another 15 in the back. As the bus departs there is squawking and chatter I don't understand but it is jovial and full of excitement. The bus isn't on the road for ten minutes before the Vice-Principle starts handing out beers and pouring shots of a strange purple alcohol. I take a beer, thank him, and make note of the time while cracking open the cold can: it is 10:20 a.m. I stand and make my way to the back of the bus where some of the faculty are gambling around the large wooden table. The game makes use of a small deck of cards with unfamiliar pictures of flowers and animals. I spend some time observing and realize that the game is similar to poker. The cards resemble months of the year, and are thus assigned a coinciding point value from 1-12. I feel confident that I can play this game but as I am freeing my wallet from my shorts an amplified voice pulls everyones attention to the front of the bus. It is the Vice-Principle. He is pushing buttons on a strange machine in an overhead storage bin while a large flat-screen television lowers from the ceiling behind him. Moments later loud music begins to play and multi-colored lights replicate a club-like atmosphere. As the vice-principle begins to sing and dance I realize that the bus is a Norebang (Kareoke) on wheels. After the second performance the crowd demands new talent and I am quickly volunteered. I never decline a chance to embarrass myself by singing bad songs but it is barely 11a.m. and this is not an ordinary audience. I quickly down my beer, detect subtle nervous shaking and grab another. My co-workers glare at me like hungry animals and I pound the second beer, crushing the can only measures before belting the best rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody in my entire life. It was probably the air guitar more than my ability to carry a tune, but the song concludes with thunderous applause and I'm confident that I have satisfied their desire to haze the new guy...for now.

I awake from a two hour nap as the bus comes to a stop and Ms. Huh informs me that I missed some beautiful mountain scenery but I am confident that it will still be there on the way back. We use the restroom before boarding a smaller shuttle bus that will carry us up a mountain to a Buddhist monastery. The road up the mountain is curvy, steep and treacherous, barley wider than the shuttle at points and without guard rails. Still, the bus driver has the confident demeanor of a man who has driven this road hundreds of times and he hurtles around the curves in fourth gear. Many of my co-workers scream or joke that the ride is like a roller coaster. I silently imagine a ten ton bus tumbling 1000 meters down a rocky cliff side in gruesome detail but conclude that there are probably more terrible ways to die. Upon arriving at the monastery we cross a river via a gorgeous stone bridge and I take an opportunity to get a picture with Mrs. Reem, the Principle. The temple grounds are beautiful, meticulously cared for, and I take many pictures. In the 1980's there was a massacre in Gwangu and Ms. Huh informs me that following the aftermath of the incident the politician responsible for the heinous crimes sought asylum here for several years. While exploring the creek I introduce myself to a co-worker I was previously unacquainted with, Mr. Jung, and discover that he likes bands like Iron Maiden and Megadeth. We become instant friends, skipping stones, arms around each other, reminiscing of past victories and sharing dreams of the future.









We are back on the coach bus, heading towards the motel. The mountains, cliffs, and waterfalls we pass are magnificent and humbling. Towering rock wall monoliths support evergreens from any possible crevasse no matter the weird altitude or nearly verticle ascent. Pictures can not capture the grandeur. Words can not possibly describe the omnipotence. The scenery is some of the most profound works my eyes have been blessed enough to take in and no matter how I try to describe it you will never be able to fully appreciate the mastery unless you stand there for yourself.

We drop off our bags at the motel. It is...minimal. We shower and change for dinner. I attempt to relate to my male roomates by asking them who they think the hottest female teacher is. After explaining the term "hottest" I receive the last answer I would have expected and wonder whether or not they understood my question in the first place. The bus drives us another twenty minutes into town for sushi. Like many seafood restaurants in Korea this establishment features large tanks of water outside housing numerous aquatic creatures; squid, flounder, sea urchins, several large types of fish I don't know the names of. We sit and eat. I eat live snails. I eat little live worms the color of blood. I eat the insides of a still moving sea-urchin. I eat the cold flesh of large fish with still moving gills. (Do you remember the little boy that wouldn't order anything but hamburgers at restaurants Mom and Dad?)

I feel energized, primitive, and satisfied. I come to the realization that what passes for sushi in the United States is really nothing more than over-priced, glorified Kimbab...more seaweed and rice than raw fish. I realize that sushi is about tasting the life of the animal, tearing into it's succulent flesh while it slowly dies on the table in front of you between side dishes of Kimchi and broccoli, while its brethren look on from mere feet away in cold, flowing tanks of water. While I am discovering my animal instincts the Soju is being passed around. The male teachers doubt my ability to drink like native Koreans. The history teacher brags that he is a professional alcoholic. "Nonsense," I tell him, "alcoholics go to meetings." They don't get the joke but we laugh anyway. I keep up with them at their game and in time I drop a shot of Soju into half a glass of Cass beer, not unlike an Irish Carbomb, before downing the cocktail in two quick gulps. They cheer and applaud. Knowing that I have re-established myself as one of the pack it occurs to me that I need not be a good teacher, speak Korean, or know anything about their culture in order to fit in, so long as I can keep drinking Soju as well as they can.


We are a screaming mob tearing through the street. At 24-years-old I am the youngest by at least six years but find myself amazed at how faculty members who are 60-years-old or more let themselves go when it comes to a night out with the crew. We make our way to a large Norebang. I sing a terrible rendition of Beat It. I want to focus on my performance but there are drunken Koreans grabbing my shoulders, shaking tamborines in my face, caring less for my awesome moves than making sure I have plenty of Cass. It is because of these subtle differences in operation that I still claim to like Kareoke more than Norebang. For a while I dance with them but soon find thier taste in music to be terribly boring. Aside from the language it sounds like something that would be played at an old Italian wedding. Towards the end of our session I manage to sneak in an awesome performance of Personal Jesus but I don't think they enjoy it as much as I do. We hazily leave the Norebang and make our way out to a pier on the beach. I move away from the crowd and holding onto a handrail watch rough waves break on the rocks below. I realize that it is the first time I have seen the Pacific Ocean.

Saturday:
I wake to a screaming voice I don't understand but the tone suggests impatience. I follow my roomates to breakfast. Bulgolgi is being served. It is one of my favorite meals but not something I ever considered eating at eight in the morning. I can't bring myself to eat onions, kimchi, and beef this early so I eat a few spoonfuls of rice. I think I offend some teachers by not eating but they'll get over it. We are back on the bus and heading to the beach for an early morning stroll. It is cold and deserted but I have never swam in the Pacific before so I tear off my shirt and run screaming into the ocean while my co-workers stare in amazement. The water is freezing and the beach drops off steeply. I am quickly over my head, breaths coming in short shocked gasps. I swim out ten yards, twenty, still the water is like ice and the current is strong so I head in. My teachers are cheering and taking pictures.


It is another two hours on the bus. We arrive at what looks like a small resort at the base of a mountain. There is a tram car carrying passangers up the small cliff side but we are a large group and opt to take the walking trail. We climb 500 metres and stand in front of a wooden entry way, cold air issuing from the dark recess therein. It is an old gold mine from the time when the Japanese occupied the penninsula but now it's tunnels and caverns have been converted for tourism. We proceed into the dark. The path is level and every few paces we pass animatronic miners ceaselessly digging for fake gold. For a while there is very little that is worth mentioning but we eventually come upon a steel staircase that leads us away from the concrete-reinforced tunnel and into dark, natural rock formations. The stone ceilings are high and impressive while endless chasams drop away below our feet. I realize that this is the first time I've been in a cave. I take what pictures I can but the lighting is terrible and my flash only makes it worse.
A cartoonish mouth marks the entryway to an adjacent tunnel and things begin to get trippy. There are black lights installed in this portion of the cave and miniture gremlins or dogs or something acting out strange fantasy land...stuff...I don't know, just look at the pictures.

So after Fantasy Land or whatever the tunnel opens into a huge natural cavern. It's one of the most impressive places I've ever been. It has to be eight stories tall and several football fields long. An oil tanker would fit in this cave with ease and have room to spare. It takes over half an hour to walk around the perimeter of the cavern. All I can think about is how cool it would be to get a thousand people, a line up of awesome DJ's, a dumptruck full of glowsticks, and have the coolest underground rave ever. I exit the caves with my teachers. The air outside feels warm and humid by comparrison and people wearing glasses instantly notice condensation. I head bck to the bus which will take me home and decide that I'm going to do tonights blog as a present tense stream of consciousness.

Cool Thing About Korea #18: The people I live and work with day to day.