DEUTCHLAND AND AUSTRIA

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Exams are finished, grades are in, the first semester has come and gone. What does this mean?

Christie's off to Germany and Austria! That's right, I took up my friend, Ros, on her invitation to visit and travel with her over the Christmas holiday. Ros and I taught together at Indianhead, my first school here in Korea, and she is now teaching in Dresden, Germany. I'm looking forward to traveling again with my Aussie friend! Also, we will have the opportunity to spend a few days with my Spanish friend, Paco, who will be my skiing buddy on Christmas Day in Innsbruck!! I've skiied in Michigan... how different could the Alps be after not skiing for four years???!!!! (Let's hope I don't follow my brother's lead with international injuries... OH! Sorry bro, are you reading?!) CENSOR, CENSOR

Anyway, here is my itinerary... kind of hazy after New Year's:

Dec. 22: arrive in Munich at 5pm
Dec. 23: travel to medieval Rothenburg by train to see the last day of their famous Christmas markets
Dec. 24: back to Munich to meet Ros, then onward to Innsbruck
Dec. 25: skiing!!! Merry Christmas! Yodel-eh-ee-who!!
Dec. 26-28: Salzburg, where I will sing all songs from The Sound of Music as many times as possible while prancing around the city and its surrounding filming sights
Dec. 28-30: Vienna, where we will hopefully be able to catch a concert
Dec. 31: train back to Dresden for New Year's Eve with Ros' colleagues
Jan. 2: Ros returns to school... and I will soonafter head to Prague for a couple of days
Jan. 4-8: Day trips from Dresden, perhaps an overnight to Berlin...
Jan. 9: back to Munich to see the city and Neufchenstein Castle (I love castles!)
Jan. 11: back to Korea...

So, there you have it, expect pictures and stories to come at the end of this journey! Enjoy the journey, as my family and friends back in the States are always with me, on my mind, on these trips!

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! Always thinking about you!

Love,

Christie

Kimchi-making time!

KIM-JANG: the span of time (approx. two weeks in November) when all married women in Korea get together with the womenfolk of their family - or of their church, in this case - to make the year's supply of kimchi. What is kimchi, you ask?? At it's most basic, fermented cabbage with oodles of red pepper powder, garlic, salt, sesame oil, radish,... and I think that's all...

Having lived in Korea for almost four years now, and having acquired a taste for this potent Korean staple that emanates from your pores for the rest of the day and night, I decided that I could not let another year pass without taking part in this annual event. So, I took a personal day and helped with my friends, the women at my church!

The entire process took about 5 hours - mind you, I attend church with some very experienced kimchi makers who have this down to a science! The kimchi was packed away in plastic tubs large and small, and either left outside sealed tight or placed in the kimchi refrigerator (YES, this is necessary unless one wants ALL of the food in his/her refrigerator to have a kimchi taste and smell) to let time take its toll on the heads of cabbage.

Afterwards, we enjoyed lunch prepared by the pastor's wife. Good times!!!

"Thanksgiving dinner" at church

I have found an amazing community at the church I have been attending the past eight months. With the exception of about five to ten of us teachers from the school that attend, everyone else are Koreans, most of whom only speak Korean. In the past month the church purchased headsets so we can listen to the sermon while sitting with the rest of the congregation instead of huddled in the back, listening to Jen's translation (she's the pastor's daughter and speaks English, as well as her brother, Jae).

Anyway, every Sunday at noon, after the service, we all go upstairs and enjoy a Korean lunch together. Well, one of my fellow teachers suggested loudly that we prepare an American lunch for everyone sometime. She said this with the pastor's wife in earshot, and she LOVED the idea!

ME? Well, I loved the idea of paying back the community somehow for their kindness. However, preparing a meal for fifty people for the first time was not at the top of my list. I first wanted to help them prepare a few meals, to see how much food they needed and just get some experience cooking for a mass of people. The next Sunday, however, Pastor's wife approached me and asked if November 18 would be alright for us to prepare this meal (she approached me about it because I am the oldest of us foreigners that attend the church - that's how it goes here, I was responsible).

How did it go? We all worked as a team, half of us in charge of desserts and my half in charge of the main course - 6 shepherd's pies, 5 baked spaghetti, and garlic bread. It turned out pretty well! They liked it, although I think the shepherd's pie with its rosemary flavor was a bit bland for the Korean taste buds. We cooked all of the pies and spaghettis in mine and my neighbors' ovens in my building, which is all staff apartments (the church kitchen does not have ovens, since most Korean food is prepared on the stove). In the end, it was fun! When will we cook next??... don't ask, please!

Pins and Needles

My marathon training for March 18, 2007 in Seoul was off to a rocky start back at the end of October; I had been suffering from a stubborn left knee for the last couple of weeks of our cross-country season. Runners do not take it sitting down when an injury arises and warrants rest and recuperation. However, I knew that if I wanted to be able to run with Jaci, my co-cross-country coach, and April and Virginia, two other colleagues that work as dorm RAs, I better allow my knee the chance to get well.

Then I remembered what I had been waiting to try since arriving in Korea: ACUPUNCTURE! Where better to take advantage of the centuries-old form of medicine right here in the area of the world where it originated!! (How blessed am I that three years had to pass before I would need a doctor!) One of my cross-country athletes, Dennis, who had also been suffering from a knee injury, visited an acupuncturist and, a week later, came back to train and eventually become our #4 runner! I decided I had better give the pins and needles a try.

I arrived at the clinic and was seated with as diagnosis form that included questions ranging from my age to my alcohol intake to various details regarding my "feces," as well as questions about my muscle, joint, and bone "symptoms." The nurse took my blood pressure then stood me on what was labeled a "body composition machine," on which I had to grip a silver-plated handle in each hand as the screen's bar graph slowly crept up to... well, some point that must have meant something to the nurse, but nothing to me. Next she sat me at another machine my feet again on metal plates, holding two metal rods with a strap around my forehead. I felt a bit like Frankenstein, only not strapped to a table (yet) and no metal rods poking out of my neck... was that a heavy-duty form of acupuncture the Doctor was trying on the big guy, come to think of it?? Hmmmm, let's nevermind that. Anyway, the machine began scribbling frantically on a chart with red, blue, and black pens, marking a picture of the human body and creating bar graphs on the sheet of paper. FASCINATING!

How pleasantly surprising it was to sit down with the doctor one-on-one for about 20 minutes while he asked ME questions about MY body rather than just looking at a chart or down my throat and in my ears for five minutes before diagnosing me and sending me out to pay the hefty bill (as occasionally happens in Western medicine these days). Granted, some of that time he spent sweating profusely as he struggled to recall the necessary English for his questions.

He next led me into a different room where I laid on a warm marble table/bed (actually, hard marble beds are quite popular here in Korea, and people spend a lot of money for the "luxury"). The doctor placed a heating pad on the stubborn left knee before proceeding to quickly stab six small embroidery-size needles into me - right palm, wrist, thumb, inner elbow, right foot, and lower right shin. He vigorously twisted a few of them as if tuning an instrument. After the subtle pinch, I felt nothing. He also focused a heating lamp down over my feet as if they were a burger and fries up for an order.

As I laid still for twenty minutes, I couldn't help but marvel at the age-old treatment. How did he know EXACTLY where to position the needles? How does that particular place on my palm, leg, or elbow affect my heel or knee? And how did the pioneers of this ancient medicine discover it? Thousands of years have passed since someone in the old Asian countryside, at a loss for any other cure, decided that perhaps a swift poke, or series thereof, would at least distract the patient from the original pain. However in doing that, he hit the jackpot - or pressure point - and was healed.

My attention was unpleasantly snapped back to the present by the modern Western music playing above me; how can one consider the incredulity of the mysterious "needlework" with Jamiroquai's 90's hit "Virtual Insanity" rudely interrupting my reverie among the scholars and early Chinese doctors??

The last three treatments included a two pulsating patches that tried to jumpstart my knee, a quick chiropractic session, and a waterbed massage.

For two hours I underwent these various treatments and paid a trand total of $10. CRAZY! Pennies in comparison to the cost of 5 minutes with the chiropractor in the States!

After a week and a half that totaled about 5 visits, my knee pain disappeared... of course, I haven't had the chance to go back in the past two weeks, and my knee's stubbornness has returned, which means that I must return to ancient China... in my mind, at least, while I lay upon the nice warm, marble bed!

EVERYONE GO TRY ACUPUNCTURE! If you keep your eyes closed, you'll forget that there are needles dangling from just beneath your skin! :)

Cross-country season

Our cross-country season officially ended on Saturday, October 21, at our KAIAC tournament. I have no pictures from that meet, by then having accepted the fact that I cannot cheer to my utmost AND take pictures. Besides, whenever I have tried to multitask, I forget that my trusty Canon is strapped around my neck, and it's probably not too good for my camera to accompany me on my speedy scrambles from view/cheerpoint A to point B.

Our numbers overshot sixty in our first weeks, but they slowly dwindled to fourteen girls and twenty-six boys. Still great numbers, in Jaci's and my opinion! We had fantastic weather throughout the season. I didn't have to even pack my blue winter hat for any of the meets, and I never once had to wear long pants to practices or meets. Super!

At every meet as well as at practice, I counted my blessings for being able to spend time running with these kids. Over the season we saw kids assume their leadership positions as captains; learn that there's more to being a member of a team than running fast; gain confidence in themselves after realizing that they can do much more than they think they can; form much-needed friendships; make me laugh; drool on each other on the bus rides to and from meets; and have FUN running! I love having the opportunity to get to know the kids outside the classroom, and that they get to know me is... well, fun for me, perhaps scary for them. :) Yes, I do seem to be on a constant freakish runner's high!

Anyway, I'll be posting more pictures of the kids on ofoto. Oh, and I have decided to train for a marathon in March in Seoul along with my fellow coach, Jaci, her husband, Mike, and April, another staff member. Hurray?

Holy Cow!

The moo-moo fiasco began on our first night in Bali, in the van enroute to our villa from the airport. In our excitement over FINALLY arriving at our destination and having caught the first sunset glimpses of the paradise around us, the four of us were quite chatty with our driver. He, in turn, was explaining the sights we passed and answering our questions about the scenes we were passing. One scene was actually a Hindu ceremony at one of the many temples populating the sides of the road. We inquired about this, and he mentioned that this week marked a very important Hindu ceremony that his village would be celebrating all week. We expressed interest and excitement about this, all four of us curious and eager to learn about the people and the religion here, so he suggested that we all go together, that he would show us the ceremony.

Due to our continued inquiries into this week's momentous Hindu occasion, three days later we dressed in traditional Balinese batiks, thanks to Nyoman's friend who graciously lent us the clothing. Why? To attend what Nyoman repeatedly referred to as simply "the ceremony" at his temple back home in his village on the shore of beautiful Lake Batur and at the foot of the Mt. Batur volcano.

Despite the touristy markets he took us to along the way, as well as the buffet restaurant that probably cost as much as three days of meals in our villa ($15), we were still positive and hopeful about this opportunity to learn more about Hinduism. Also it was important to Nyoman, I believe, so I'm glad we went so he could partake of this "ceremony" with his old neighbors and friends. Unfortunately, in our stupefied, dazed state of Bali vacation relaxation, none of us thought to associate "Hindu ceremony" with "holy cow," let alone contemplate what they do with the holy cows...

When we finally did speak up and ask, "So, Nyoman, what can we expect to observe during this ceremony?", our driver replied by dropping the unexpected bomb - FIVE cows would be sacrificed during this ceremony. FIVE (5)!! Stunned into a moment of silence, we exchanged uneasy glances that asked, "Did we understand him correctly??" After all, it was not uncommon for us to mistake Nyoman's words or hear him unclearly, due in part to his accent, the blare of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" from his love compilation CD, and his seat in the front of our van. We promptly asked for more clarification and details about how this was done; however, the response was unclear. We gathered that the cows were drowned in the lake. Something to do with a rock. Were they killed first? Were they hit over the head with a rock? No, no... that would result in killing, and they were not killed before going into the lake. The rock was tied around their necks, then they were drowned. Our questions ended for the time being, basically because Nyoman seemed not to know how to answer them.

The ensuing silence (apart from Celine, that is) allowed our imaginations (and fears) to fill in the gaps of this ritual we were going to observe . Would they round up the cows on a raft and push them off in the middle of the lake with the rocks secured around their necks? Now, cows may not be the smartest animal - though the most sacred - but how are the lucky citizens in charge of the logistics of this cow-drowning going to coax these five cows into the depths of Lake Batur?? Throwing some hay or even some carrots into the water will not be convincing enough to make them cannonball themselves into their sacrificial deathbed, will it? If left up to us, we could have spared some of our rum or tequila to loosen them up a bit (even some 40-proof arak, if they were partial to strictly Balinese products), then take them for a walk out to the lake "to cool them off." Would they be drunkety-drunk-drunk enough to take the last few paces to their deaths in the deep end, though? Hmmm... that method, although tasty in the last moments of the cows' lives, needs some more thought.

Angela, the resident farmgirl, expressed concern about the panic factor. Any living being has a sense for danger, especially life-threatening danger. How would a huge animal like a cow, fattened real-nice for sacrifice, react to a rock being tied around its neck, followed by a push into the water by those lucky cow sacrificers? Most likely more than just the cow would end up in the water. Is that the intent, perhaps - to give a little something extra? OK, enough senseless speculation, Christie. Honestly.

The ride from lunch to the village was a quiet half-hour, zigzagging down the hillside, into the ancient volcano, among the volcanic rock, which was far beyond its five o'clock shadow with its dry grass growing atop to provide a splash of color to the landscape.

The four of us were silenced by our thoughts, concerns, and imaginations, vividly pre-enacting the events to transpire during this ceremony. Becca spoke up for all of us, informing Nyoman that we wanted to observe from a distance, from the back, not up front. We imagined the Hindus, in their elation over our presence and interest in their rituls, placing us on the raft with the five cows so as to get the best view. Angela was cringing at the horribly traumatic sound and sight of a cow thrashing and struggling against imminent death. Then we began to wonder if WE were the ones to be sacrificed - four whiteys dressed in Balinese batiks of the finest order for the gods. After all, everywhere we went, the Balinese admired our clothing, asking where we bought it and how much we paid. Was this all a conspiracy? Lastri and Weni and Pipin fatten us up with the deliciously filling Balinese meals back at the villa, Nyoman's friend generously offering her batiks for us to wear, thereby winning additional favor from the gods, and Nyoman basically tying the rocks around our necks. Goodness! How could we not have seen through this scheme?!

In the end, however, we arrived too late for the cow sacrifice. Bummer. With the encouragement of the worshipers in the temple, who insisted that we walk around and take pictures of their holy place, that "it is your temple, too," we wandered around and observed. Later we followed Nyoman from the main temple to a smaller temple on the edge of the lake; while he prayed inside the temple, the four of us faced the calm, blue waters and said silent prayers for the five cows at the bottom of the lake. Poor guys! During our long return trip to Ubud, Nyoman quenched our religious curiosity by answering our numerous questions about Hindu beliefs; however, we failed to acquire more details about the holy cow sacrifices until our return trip to the airport on our last night , at which point we were able to gather... well, perhaps I'll just let you inquire about the graphic details if interested. What I will say, though, is thank goodness we were not considered holy whiteys!

Beautiful Bali

My friends - Becca, Angela, and Ashley - and I have been trying to believe that we were actually in scenic, green Bali only a week ago, relaxing in the sun with our books or journals, marveling at the scarcity of tall buildings, concrete, 4-lane roads, expressways. What was left? An abundance of green - banana trees, rice fields occupying terraces stepping high above or far below the narrow, optimistic 2-lane roads in places, bushes that engulf whole walls with a beautiful natural wallpaper, beautiful flowers that emit heavenly scents, and, of course, PALM TREES, still one of my favorites!

Particularly after the adventures we experienced to finally arrive on the tropical island of Indonesia, which echoed the old Candy/Martin movie, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Bali really did seem like heaven. Our travels from Korea to Nagoya, Japan, by train and plane, followed by our unexpected detour by train to Tokyo Station and, eventually, by taxi to Narita Airport, Japan, amounted to about 14 hours of travel and a night's sleep of three hours on those comfy airport benches before awakening at 6 AM to the pitter-patter of little Japanese heels scurrying to their posts for work. But, hey, we boarded a plane for Bali at 11 AM on Saturday!

The people were the most rewarding part of the trip, with their limitless daily allowance of warm kind smiles. We split an unbelievable villa on a hillside outside of Ubud complete with four employees - a cook, Lastri, expecting her third child in about four months; a maid/cook, Wenli, who also did our laundry; Pipin, a soft-spoken guy our age, originally from Java, who was basically in charge of the villa while the German artist owner was gone; and Chandra, the older groundskeeper with whom I immediately felt a bond through our incredible affinity for high-fives and the thumbs-up. Lastly, of course, we have Nyoman (which means "3rd child" - the Balinese name their children according to birth order), who was our funny, charismatic, and borderline creepy (flirtatious with Ashley) driver. He had a great sense of humor that allowed us to joke around with him and be sarcastic without it going over his head. Common Nyoman phrases included the following: "Are you happy, Christin (what most people called me there)?"; "No problem!"; "Whatever you want, boss?" We tried not to let this go to our heads. :)

Our last night, we invited the above five to eat dinner with us to show our appreciation for their kindness and hospitality that seemed to reach beyond what one would expect of cabin or villa staff. They humbly accepted and were rather surprised - during dinner they shocked us with some stories of how previous villa guests have treated them. How could anyone be so rude to such wonderful people? That night was probably my favorite - to sit and enjoy the DELICIOUS Balinese food and coffee prepared by Lastri and Wenli WITH the cooks and other staff.

Other Bali experiences included a monkey forest where memories of my last encounter with wild monkeys, on Gibraltar, came flooding to the forefront of my mind. I observed their monkey business from a distance... Another day we enjoyed a long drive to the Tulamban divesite where I dived a WWII shipwreck and a reef wall, both resembling mature underwater gardens, just without the scents, while the others snorkeled. We did some shopping, our villa located outside the Balinese town known for its traditional handicrafts. It was so nice to not see the golden arches, Starbucks, or KFC for an entire week! We also experienced a rip-off, being told that we NEEDED to take a boat to a secluded beach and snorkeling cove, only to find that it was a 5-minute walk from the port where we left... tsk, tsk, tsk. However, WE WERE IN BALI, so nothing could bring us down from our... Cloud Nine villa!

More later, including an excerpt from my journal about our day that included a Hindu ceremony at our driver's village near a volcano and five sacrificial cows... it's a little something I like to call "Holy Cow!"