When in Seoul

You may not be aware of this, but ancient Rome and Korea actually have a few things in common. Perhaps it stems from their geographic location which has each peninsula strategically placed to entice warriors and explorers alike to invade and vanquish the land. Both cultures have a rich history that is intricately interwoven with other ancient civilizations to the extent that arguments arise over who invented what and when. Both groups have a deep sense of this culture and are keenly aware of any outside forces coming in to threaten that culture. Most importantly, both cultures share a tradition that allows their people to unite in a common experience. The bath house.

While Korea may not be world-renowned for their kimchi, they are celebrated among other Asian nations for their bath house experiences. Since our arrival to Seoul, friends had mentioned various such establishments around the peninsula and their preferences about which ones were the best. Never being one to shy away from a cultural experience, I was on board from day one and was looking for an opportunity to get to know the Korean people through this custom. The perfect opportunity for cultural discovery presented itself a few weeks ago as our Christmas break drew to a close and we had one last day work-free. Along with some friends, Chris and I scampered off to enjoy one of the most famous bath houses in all of Seoul: The Dragon Hill Spa.

Not really sure what to expect, I verified with my friend one more time before entering the spa, “You’re sure I don’t need a swimsuit, right?” I was reassured that no such attire was needed and we walked in. Immediately greeted by our spa host, he assigned us all lockers and gave us a brief rundown of each of the spa’s seven floors. We bid our husbands adieu as they went to the blue floors and my friend and I left for the pink floors. Elevators were carefully labeled for men or women and were wired only to stop on the assigned floors in order to prevent any uncomfortable situations caused by misguided button pushing. When we arrived at our floor we were met by a host of women of all shapes, sizes and ages wearing nothing but a smile. Suddenly feeling overdressed, we moved to our lockers and joined the other women au natural.

We then headed to the baths themselves. We were met with an array of giant baths varying in temperatures from 17˚C to 52˚C (in Fahrenheit that’s pretty cold to pretty hot, you can do the math). Each was equipped with seats and jets to make the bathing experience that much more pleasant. Around the walls were strings of low-sitting sinks and mirrors. At each station sat women in various stages of pampering. Some were waiting for a facial mask to dry, others were scrubbing down with scented soaps and oils. Many sat next to friends and gossiped about neighbors and coworkers as they helped each other exfoliate those hard-to-reach places on their backs. One corner of the room was sectioned off for massages and mud baths where mothers kept half an eye out for their daughters playing in a nearby lukewarm tub. For the extra brave, a door took you to an outside patio that had another group of pools to enjoy in the open air. When we gave these pools a whirl, I couldn’t help but notice that the only fools out there were us crazy foreigners. My guess is that they are a bit more popular among the locals in March than in January.

Exfoliated, moisturized and down-right pruney, my friend and I saw that it was time to meet back up with the guys. We headed back up the stairs and made ourselves decent once again. While I will admit that this experience is not for the overly modest, it was a very relaxing one for me. It was refreshing to see so many women lounging around, comfortable in their own skin. Who knows? Maybe between public bathing and blossoming kimchi fondness, I am becoming more Asian than I realize. Watch out, Southern friends, I may just make you drink hot tea one of these days…

A Year in Pictures

It has been quite a year! Since a picture is worth a thousand words, this should give you the gist.

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Malaysia, Truly Asia

Taiwan touch your heart, Korea sparkling, Incredible India, tourism boards around here have given their respective countries slogans to entice tourists to travel to places they may not otherwise think to visit. Malaysia wins the tourism award as Chris and I have been looking for an excuse to visit "Truly Asia" since we first saw their ads in Taiwan. So, when the holidays rolled around, we decided to escape Seoul's icy streets and introduce the girls to the South China Sea for their first Christmas.

The fam on our Christmas morning before we left

Meeting Santa

Enjoying the beach


Orangutan Reserve
The Always Popular BOGOs



Merry Christmas!

Minding Everyone's Business: Collectivism

They are everywhere: riding the subway, standing on street corners, scanning my groceries, driving my taxi. I cannot step foot out of my apartment without running into one. Who are they? People telling me my business. Where I come from, this is a serious no-no. Friends, let alone strangers, will be met with a harsh glance and a terse reply should they comment on my choice of food or attire. “Mind your own business,” is a phrase that we learn in our very early playground years and it sticks with us through adulthood. Living in a collectivist culture, however, has brought me to reflect about what exactly is my own business and what makes it so sacredly personal.

We noticed this phenomenon while living in Taiwan. People would come along and show us how to correctly stand in line or hold an umbrella. We learned when it was appropriate to wear gloves (answer: October through February) and when it was appropriate for women to wear high heels (answer: Every. Single. Day.) Sometimes this unsolicited advice was welcomed, sometimes it was fodder for comedic storytelling, but frankly sometimes it was simply annoying. Nonetheless, we learned to deal with it and recognize it as a part of our daily lives.

Fast forward to the arrival of babies last February. Everywhere we turned, Korean women were there with their wise counsel about what I should be doing better. Why aren’t the babies wearing socks right now? Where are their hats? That position is much too uncomfortable for them to sit, you should move them. That is not a good toy for them. Your babies are clearly too hot/too cold right now! You need to add/subtract clothes immediately. And the list goes on. People telling me my business. I have to admit that these comments often left my feathers a bit ruffled. Do you not think that I care about my babies’ welfare? Would I intentionally dress them inappropriately or give them something that was unsafe? Through my own cultural lenses, I perceived this unsolicited instruction as a personal affront to my ability to be a mother. However, after further reflection, I have come to the conclusion that this is not at all the case.

Having grown up in an individualist culture, I learned to value independence above all things. The more you can do on your own, the better person you are. At the other end of the spectrum, collectivists value what you can accomplish together, how well you all can excel by putting your heads together. Through this cultural lens, I can appreciate collectivist advice for what it is. Koreans don’t have the concept of minding their own business because no one has their own business. It is all “our business”. When Koreans offer their assistance on how my children should be dressed, it is not an attack on what I am doing wrong but rather a plea to be involved, even in this tiny way, in my and my family’s life. From that perspective, it is really pretty cool.

So, go ahead. Tell me my children should be wearing more clothes. Help me change their diapers. Give them snacks from your own diaper bag. But be ready, this American girl has a few opinions of her own.

Lucy enjoying the company of some women on the train

Lily getting passed around the subway

Lucy making friends in the local coffee shop

Dinner: Part 2

For those of you who follow our blog, you may remember a woeful post I wrote about a year ago lamenting the difficulties of procuring a decent meal in our then-new city. Perhaps it was because I was pregnant, hormonal, and constantly hungry but, cooking was the biggest culture shock that I experienced upon moving to Korea. For whatever reason, I suddenly felt lost without my Pillsbury crescent rolls and pre-bagged salads. I wandered the grocery aisles panic-stricken looking for something from my dinner arsenal: Bisquick, basil, buttermilk… and that’s just the B’s! Soy sauce, yes. Rice, most definitely. But, rice soaked in soy sauce doesn’t actually taste that great, no matter how you prepare it. Trust me. So, dinner for the first few months of our time here vacillated between spaghetti, stir fry, soup, and probably spaghetti again.

I used to love cooking. That love is probably more deeply rooted in my more passionate love for eating. When we lived in the States, I used to enjoy going to the grocery store and dreaming about what we might have for dinner. Foodnetwork.com and allrecipes.com frequented my browsing history. But, moving abroad changed that. Filled with recipes including boxed cake mix, canned soups and ready-made bread dough, searching for dinner options simply reminded me of everything I couldn’t find in my Korean grocery store.

But then, slowly but surely, something began to happen. Really, it started with my mom’s visit when the babies came. She would go down to the same grocery store whose name had become synonymous with anxiety for me and come back able to prepare a variety of delicious meals, not one of them spaghetti. So that inspired me to experiment. I started to ask around and see what other ladies put on their tables and what recipes worked for them. I wasn’t too surprised to learn that, instead of Pillsbury and Bisquick, most ladies’ recipe boxes were filled with recipes that actually included flour and yeast. The words “from scratch” had always carried an imposing connotation for me. Anything made at home had to have taken hours of laborious measuring, kneading and mixing to produce the pristine final product that grandmothers around the world would be proud of. But, I decided to give it a go. A good friend offered a bread recipe that promised to be easy and versatile. You know what? It was easy! I was inspired. What else do I need from my American grocer that I can make here? Bread, done. Pie crust? A cinch. Cake and icing? Simple. Buttermilk… well, okay that one didn’t turn out as well but at least I tried. I even went so far as to try my hand at home made puffed pastry last weekend. I don’t think I am selling the recipe to Pepperidge Farm any time soon but it did the trick.

I am happy to say that allrecipes.com has once again reached the top ten browsing history and the kitchen has returned to its former glory of “happy place”. A happy kitchen means happy bellies. Happy bellies means a happy family. In conclusion, homemade bread = happiness.