They regain is because they have cut themselves loose from their own society, from every society; they are, for a while, floating vagabonds, like astronauts out for a space walk on a long free line. They are subject to preternatural exhilarations, absurd horizons, unexpected forms and transmutations: the matter-of-fact (a battered old stoop, say, or the shape of a door) appears beautiful; or a stone that at home would not merit the blink of your eye here arrests you with its absolute particularity–just because it is what your hand already intimately knows. You think: a stone, a stone! They have stones here too! And you think: how uncannily the planet is girdled, as stone-speckled in Sweden as in New York. For the vagabond-voyeur (and for travelers voyeurism is irresistible), nothing is not for notice, nothing is banal, nothing is ordinary: not a rock, not the shoulder of a passer-by, not a teapot.”

~~~from “The Shock of Teapots,” by Cynthia Ozick

I think an absence from the cyber world for 2 months calls for a long updates post no one will read, don’t you? At least this means I’m living life. If only I had the dedication to write consistently as well.

When last I wrote, it was an average of 50 degrees F and I was growing sick of my limited sweaters. Now my dashboard reads 80 degrees and sunny, with only a touch of humidity. After months of scarves and heavy jackets, I’m reveling in the sunshine. Though, still–bad day to wear pants to the café.

I’m of the opinion that one should move to a foreign country in the summer, because dealing with the stifling and suffocating winter on top of culture shock is liable to drive anyone to — le gasp! — reruns. This is why cabin fever is a dangerous thing kids.

Summer has been gentle toward us coastal crabs, allotting sunshine, heat, and plenty activities as the festival atmosphere pervades through Seoul. Hello again much beloved languid weekends. I’ve even found a cute café just across Jeongweong Station, 5 minutes from my flat. It’s open, airy, with large sliding glass windows and doors, and an upstairs balcony where tiny French windows decorate the walls.

Summer has encouraged me to explore more. In May, saw the Lotus Lantern Festival in Seoul, the parade at Jongno, where they had numerous of huge lanterns on wheels, elaborately crafted in the shapes of elephants, pagodas, dragons, and lotus flowers. And groups of sponsors, musicians, dancers, schoolchildren holding up their tiny paper lanterns as well. At Bongeunsa temple by the COEX Mall, they had an exhibition of thousands of colorful paper lanterns strung like a canopy over the courtyards, to celebrate Buddha’s birthday. Lots of foreigners armed with impressive photographer’s tools.

Checked out an International Boat Festival on Daebu-do, a vineyard-laden island, off the coast of Oido. Met some interesting Koreans and Australians, sucked down spicy noodles, and touched 5,000-year-old pottery. Oh she of small history-geekery pleasures. Wandered down an immense mudflat and almost lost my sandals to those gray crustacean gods of the mire turf. Turns out their weaknesses are a hose and a team of barefoot grade schoolers.

Other news: These past seven weeks I have been taking intensive Salsa dance classes. It is immensely invigorating and has led the way to meeting new kinds of foreigners and cool Koreans outside of the work environment. The atmosphere is great, chill, amateur– people just coming together to dance for a few hours. On Friday nights there’s an open all-class mini-party, where students from all levels can come and dance together. It’s especially fun to dance with advanced level men with slippery feet and confident grips. They have the aplomb and patience to assist me in practicing my beginner moves and in teaching me new tricks. I find I am consistently humbled by their sympathy with my stumbling steps. The two class teachers are equally as gentle, kind, and considering of the beginners’ awkward techniques. I, for one, am having an amazing time, I always feel galvanized and positive after dancing, though I do wish I had the endurance to dance for 4 hours, instead of 2. For now, however, I’m shocked that I haven’t dropped the class — as I have a habit of wandering in and out of hobbies like a coquettish Jade of All Trades.

Maybe it’s a change in the winds.

A few weeks ago, I traveled to Gangnam with some friends to see the Cirque du Soleil during their Varekai tour. It was their last day in Seoul, and I was absolutely stunned by the performances. Avid advocate, right here. The performance was funny, charming, mysterious, and captivating, incorporating a blend of balancing acts, aerial arts, juggling, clowning, and even a loose storyline–which particularly surprised me.

Also visited the Noryangjin fish market, a monstrous seafood market held within a massive warehouse right on the Han River. The floor was saturated in fishy juices, running down grates between the stalls. There were stacks of dead eels and sunfish, and lobsters clinging to each other in blue tanks. Fishermen wave you over in their aprons and rainboots, climbing onto these tanks like hopping crabs on a beach.

A great experience was the Fermentation Festival, an expat-run tasting event of various fermenting foods. In the Haebeongcheon district (by Itaewon), dozens of vendors had set up their products and offering samples — from salsa and hard cider to locally brewed beers and tzatziki. I had the chance to explore the foreigners’ streets, full of bakeries and bistros and pizzerias, neighborhoods I thought I’d never see in Korea. Surprise, surprise.

The highlight of my month, however, was my trip outside of Seoul to the eastern coast, to the seaside city of Sokcho and the impressive mountains of Seoraksan. I want to really do that story justice, however, to it’s another post for another time.

Namsan Park.

I came here to escape. The silence is heavy-footed, enough to intimidate the urban animal. I step away from the red road that winds up the hillside into the arid, deserted forests of Namsan Park. On the edge of winter, the trees are naked, the leafy tide coils and scatters around my footsteps. Neat piles of sawed wood lay as placeholders and seats, still blushing with life. A bridge of rusting rails above a deadened, shrinking stream. Above me, tree skeletons obscure the iron peak of Seoul Tower. Below, I can see an old man working pull-ups on outdoor equipment, and a gaggle of spirited girls, clipping in their Myeongdong heels. Climbing the edge of a trail less traveled, I look down into the folk village. I can just hear the vigorous drumming there in the distance; wondering, as I do, what am I missing?

Time Capsule.

It takes me about ten minutes to walk down there, down into the concrete park. Earnest photographers perch on high walls for clear shots. In the cavity of tilting stone alleys lies a massive discus grave, maybe 15 feet in diameter. The time capsule was buried to commemorate Seoul’s six hundredth year as capital, to be opened in 2394. Encircling the stone hearth are signatures from mayors of the world over, from Ciudad de Mexico and Honolulu to Tokyo and Paris. A group of Spanish tourists and their bubbly speech float around me as I read.

Namsangol Hanok Village.

Down into the village of black roofs and elfin eaves troughs. Clumps of pine trees, in a tender breeze, a wood pavilion. A small village of century-old architecture posted on slabbed pedestals. They say these buildings stand on ground once called Jeonghakdong— “land of the fairies.” Now there’s a teahouse, serving apricot punch, with mesmerizing flute music, wooden grills for that insular experience. Alongside the outer walls some curator has scratched vertical poems in Hangul calligraphy, lightly dyed a rainbow wash.

“In the dense pine forests of Namsan, the Daegeum echoes bravely.”

The thicket of 19^th century buildings is authentic, many constructed by a single carpenter. Carpenters have a way of letting their more daring innovations shine through their own houses—humble yet artfully practical of materials and space. Furnishings are traditionally typical: string bound books, massive buk drums of bold, bursting colors, earthen kimchi pots, blackened clay ovens. The most curious piece is a modest shrine table, two legs cut shorter than the other two; it tilts oddly.

In the courtyard, an exhibit of weavers, curling straw upon straw, weaving baskets and a woven slipper the size of a baby. Beside them traditional games are being played: tops beaten with leather straps, dart-like arrows, kite-flying, a metal hoop to be beaten and chased. An old man sees me struggle with the tops, helps get their red spirals spinning with his gnarled brown fingers. I whip the top with the leather tails, angled and fiercely, careful not to scoop up the top’s point. The harder I strike, the longer the dizzying spell lasts.

Behind a brightly green pavilion sits a willow-cradled koi pond, opaque and the color of sick limes. Orange and white pinto fish linger just below the surface, waiting. A young mother and boy sit down and toss in snacks. Who knew that koi loved shrimp chips?

In the middle of the pond lies an islet, covered in shrubbery. A circular place, on a circular hillside that has long ago insulated itself from time with low, shingled walls. If it weren’t for the flashing iphones to wake me, I’d be sure to still be there by that pond, waiting for my shrimp chips.

Another month anniversary rolls around the corner, and a month since my last post. I thought it was high time for a quick update.

A new school year has embarked, and classes have graduated onto the next level. I’ve one of my old kindergartener class, now 7-8 years of age, as well as 10 cute and varying 6 year olds who are determined to test their hearing capacity to the limit. I’ve even already have a favorite — Hannah, a shy-tempered girl with sad eyes and poorly constructed French sentences strung around her tiny sweaters.

The new schedule is a lot more balanced and organized, for which I’m very grateful. Other than my 2 classes, there are 3 new classes with brand new students from ages 5-7. Luckily, I’m not in charge of training them. Half of the work with the newbies is just getting them used to rules and routine, not to mention the ABCs. I’m happy to be with experienced kids.

Graduation was a ball, paid overtime to bow and watch my kids illustrate their half-hearted rendition of a Lion King song, dance, and skit. Rehearsal was frustrating (if adorable), and I’m relieved its over. I’m sure they are as well; a few, in fact, left the school while the others advanced to elementary classes in the hagwon.

Also during the past month, I have enjoyed Indian fare, a rare all-nighter in Hongdae clubs, karaoke, and a 90′s dance night in with a board game similar to Risk. My energy has mostly been immersed in my work, a fact over which I am only slightly guilty, since that is the primary reason I am here in the first place. Away from friends and family, life is somewhat like a barracks concentrated on earning some savings–though recent experiments in the kitchen have added some flavah. The past week, I’ve whipped up some nummilicious Potato Curry, Pasta Salad, Basil Cream Pasta, Green Salad, and Fried Tomato Onion & Mushroom Ragout.

Maedeup knots are specialized decorative knots that have been used widely among Korean goods–bags, tokens, belts, mobile charms, cards, gift wraps, etc. Tradition says that ornamental knotting evolved from Chinese good luck charms, spreading to Korea during the Three Kingdoms in the 1st century CE, and rising in popularity during the Joseon Dynasty (c.e. 1392-1897). Though experiencing a decline in the past few centuries, a revival was sparked in the 1960s by Jeong Yeon-su, the Master of Maedeup.

Initially used in religious ceremonies, cording has since graced the ornamentation of swords, clothes, and wedding decorations. Traditionally, Maedeup consists of a cord (kkeunmok), a knot (maedeup), and a tassel (sul). The trinity, as well as the natural symmetry of the knot, invokes harmony and consistency into the clothes or trinket on one end. There are approximately 33 types Korean knots, the most recognizable being the Bong Sul. Depending on the style of the knot, designs are representing a variety of symbols, from the lotus, ginger, butterfly, to the ring, strawberry, bird, or chrysanthemum.

Check out maedeup variations on Etsy, or some knot directions.