I met a young man on the plane to Korea.  He told me that he has already completed his mandatory service in the military.  “Mind the border,” he said, “it might be dangerous.”

Korea was the first solo trip I made abroad.  Although this young man by the name of Yun-hak gave me his contact information, I was really quite determined to explore this new destination on my own.  I booked a hostel close to the Sungkungkwan University.   After I landed, bus 6011 took me to the station in an hour.  I arrived at the Golden Pond Hostel with much anticipation.

I was in and out of slumber throughout the plane ride.  This trip to Korea was an escape from the stress and fatigue from work.  As soon as I landed, the piercing cold woke me up.  My mind became immediately aware.  The sights were somewhat familiar: neon-lit streets busy with pedestrians, with myriad storefronts competing for the shoppers’ attention.

The Golden Pond Hostel was run by an English speaking Korean family.  I walked in and heard people speaking American English.  I was shown my bedroom, it was a very small single, enough only for a single bed and a writing desk.  It felt like sleeping in a third class cabin in a ship.  I was very pleased however.  I walked barefooted on the heated floor, as the small room allowing just a few paces back and forth, I felt fully its warmth, symbolically and literally.   The living quarter had a big kitchen, and that was assuring as I would have to mind a few meals on my own during the first couple days of the Lunar New Year celebration, when many restaurants would close.

Came dinner time and I was ready to explore the vicinity.  Even my wool pants would not do in this cold, so I changed into my ski pants.  I went into a family-run restaurant, and could not read anything on the menu.  It was then that I realized that my years of spending lots of money on the Korean restaurants in America has taught me some survival skills.  I said, “soon-du-bu” and voila, my favorite tofu stew magically appeared.  I then noticed other patrons eating some steamed dumplings.  I pointed and the waitress said, “pan-du!”  She was fierce, and I knew why.  She thought I was Korean American who did not speak Korean, and that was hardly blameless in Korea.

I knew little of the dining etiquette in Korean culture, but I knew that they had metal bowls because they consider holding the rice bowl with hands impolite, and this is quite unlike the custom in China.  I kept mine on the table at all times, so not to offend the fierce waitress further.

I thought a piece of warm clothing was in order.  Amongst a scarf, a knitted beanie and ear muffs, I went for the ear muffs.  Good choice.