Chris and Ashley Abroad

When in Seoul

2012-01-21T21:59:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-03T22:53:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-29T17:56:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-07T19:48:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-19T17:11:00.000-08:00

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.

A Believer

2011-10-29T18:42:00.000-07:00

Let’s face it. Koreans are not exactly known for their cuisine. Maybe it is their northern climate that freezes out fresh produce. Maybe it is the obsession with spice that has deadened most Koreans’ taste buds leaving them apathetic toward more subtle flavors. Or maybe it is that Korean food requires one to acquire an appreciation for its culinary diamonds in the rough. More recently, I have found myself leaning to the last of these three possibilities.

Koreans don’t help their cause of becoming world renowned chefs when they describe their national dish. Ask any Korean what food best defines their country and they will undoubtedly tell you kimchi. Kimchi is everywhere. As ubiquitous as salt on the American table, kimchi serves as an appetizer, side dish and a seasoning agent all rolled into one. You literally will not have a single meal without the obligatory kimchi accompaniment. If this food is so popular, you ask, why haven’t I had it? Well, I’ll tell you.

The reason kimchi hasn’t gained quite as much popularity in non-Korean circles is because of what it is. Developed as an attempt to preserve produce to eat throughout the long winter, kimchi is cabbage that has been put in a pot and left to ferment in a special sauce. To ensure that your breath will indeed be deadly after consuming it, the kimchi has also been heavily spiced giving it a bright red color. Interested? Yeah, neither was I. Let's be honest, it was a bit too reminiscent of stinky tofu. When we lived in Taiwan we had a few Korean students whose parents made kimchi and brought it to the teachers. I figured that if there was any time I would like kimchi it would be when it was homemade by a Korean. I didn’t like it. In fact, I pretty much hated it.

Fast-forward to moving here and Chris and I felt obliged to try it again. My reaction, still hated it. Chris’ reaction, actually really liked it. He began to pick and choose our Korean restaurants by their quality of kimchi. He even began to crave kimchi and I went so far as to stock up some kimchi in our very own refrigerator. All the while, Chris keeps telling me that I will come around and start enjoying this national treasure. I insisted that I would not, Sam I am, I will not like your cole slaw gone bad!

But, last night, something happened. We went out to a Korean restaurant and I thought I would give it one more go. Not so bad. Maybe one more bite… and one more. Before I knew it, I was actually eating and enjoying kimchi. This sparked a conversation amongst our friends about kimchi and taste preferences. “I like it when it is more fresh and crunchy!” “Not me, I like it when it is soft and chewy.” “I like it when it makes my whole mouth tingle!” “My favorite is the radish kimchi.” “Mine is the cucumber kimchi!”

Here we are, a bunch of foreigners hanging out in a restaurant in Seoul debating the subtleties of kimchi spices and fermentation. Not a conversation I ever expected to have before moving abroad. But, there you have it. My name is Ashley and I like kimchi.

BOGO Update

2011-10-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, we celebrated the BOGO's eight month "birthday". And by celebrate, I mean Chris took them to a local cafe and I flew nine hours back to Seoul from Dubai. It was a grand celebration indeed. They did receive gifts from the Middle East, however, and I like to think that they enjoy them. No, eight months isn't that big of a deal but for those of you who haven't seen the little buggers for a while, I thought I would show them off a bit.

Opening gifts

Going for a stroll (Can you find Lily?)

Getting passed around the subway

Getting into trouble

Lily hanging out with Mom

Lucy hanging out with Dad

As for milestones, Lily is an expert crawler and pulls up on everything that will hold her (and some things that won't). Lucy just joined her sister in the world of mobility and can army crawl with the best of them. Lucy's grin will soon be taking shape as the first tooth finally made its debut this week. Milestones for Mom and Dad: Mom spent her first weekend away from the babies and Dad held down the fort by himself (with the help of some dear friends along the way). Big steps all around!

The New Normal

2011-09-19T06:15:00.000-07:00

Before the twins came, we received quite a lot of comments, advice, and forewarnings from friends at various stages of parenthood about what we could expect. One comment in particular seemed to be the most common. If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “Get ready, everything is going to change,” we could probably pay both of the girls’ college tuition by now. I knew that they were right; that our world was about to be rocked. But, like most life changes, what that change actually looked like was a mystery.

Now, here we are on the other side. We are parents; life is different. I think that most new parents will tell you that this adjustment is a big one and it can be quite challenging as you learn that everything, and I mean pretty much everything, is affected by this paradigm shift. However, little by little, you learn to find and embrace your new “normal”. You learn how to have a social life again, though spending time with friends now either involves a lot of patience or a babysitter. You learn just how romantic a trip to the grocery store can be sans children. You begin to understand how much that feeling of control you have in life really is just an illusion. You also learn how overwhelmingly fulfilling it is to watch that little life that has been entrusted to you learn something new, or smile at you in recognition of who you are.

It is important to point out, however, that children are also responsible for some of the adaptation. As parents, we all have different priorities and aspirations for our families. Lucky for us, our babies are masters of adjustment. Treating those nasty trans-Pacific flights as boot camp, we have thrown the twins headfirst into the world of travel. In order to continue with their training, we decided to pack them up (along with their convoy of gear) and meet my parents in Hong Kong for the weekend. The little squirts handled the trip like a couple of well-seasoned travelers as we toted them all over the city and attempted to show my parents some of our favorite sights and flavors in Hong Kong. No, the twins didn’t particularly care about a new stamp in their passports, but their parents certainly enjoyed putting another check mark in the “success” column of the “life with babies” chart. So, here is to more life experiences and learning a bit more about the new normal.

Hong Kong 2008

Hong Kong 2011

Wise Fools

2011-08-23T22:57:00.001-07:00

Since Chris and I both teach a lot of sophomores, we like to remind them every year that the definition of sophomore is that they are “wise fools”. It always gets a laugh from the upperclassmen who have very proudly moved on from that foolish age and are now self-proclaimed sages of the school, possessing all knowledge necessary to make it in the “real world”. As we enter our second year here at Seoul Foreign School, we can’t help but identify with these poor limbo-bound sophomores.

Having humbly survived our first year, it is incredibly satisfying to no longer be whispering to the person next to us in a faculty meeting about what the alphabet soup pouring out of our principal’s mouth actually means. We have learned to speak in acronyms and can carry on a conversation about IB, HL’s, IGCSE, IA’s, EE’s, and SYP’s with relative fluency. When a meeting is called in the LC, we know not only what those letters stand for, we actually know where it is located. So, during orientation week, we were feeling pretty competent as we reminisced about how far we had come in a year. Watching some of the new faculty roam mindlessly about with that all-to-familiar deer in the headlights look had us smiling in commiseration as we remembered the “sink or swim” feeling we had a year ago. But, swim we did and here we are with a bit more wisdom about the place we live and work.

However, I learned our second year in Taiwan to be careful during the sophomore stage to not be too overconfident. We no longer have the excuse of saying, “I’m new, that’s why I have no idea what’s going on.” That distinct privilege has now been passed to a new crop of teachers still trying to figure out where the meeting in the LC is. It only takes a small reminder as we leave our school’s campus and venture out into the city to see how truly foolish we still are. While we learned to speak SFS last year, our Korean is still pretty meager. Getting around in a taxi in Korean, we’re not too shabby. Ordering in a restaurant, so-so, as long as we stay within the specific menu that we know. Counting and being able to understand prices, etc.? I’m still terrible. Everyday conversation beyond hello and goodbye? Forget about it. The same is true for knowing our surrounding areas. Our neighborhood, we know pretty well. The foreign district and a nearby artists’ area, not too bad. Pretty much anything beyond that, we are lost, literally and figuratively.

So, here we are in limbo. We have gained wisdom in some areas but still come face-to-face with our foolishness on a daily basis. However, despite our precarious position, we have to agree with my Grandma who used to say, “There are no bad days, just some better than others,”… or maybe that was wine…

A Tale of Two Flights

2011-08-03T22:51:00.000-07:00

“It was the best of flights, it was the worst of flights, it was the flight of wisdom, it was the flight of foolishness… it was the flight of Light, it was the flight of Darkness, it was the flight of hope, it was the flight of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all flying direct to Heaven, we were all flying direct the other way.”

Okay, so that may not be exactly the way Dickens wrote it, but I couldn’t have said it better myself. As most of you know, Chris and I had the pleasure of toting the BOGOs to America and showing them off in their first stateside tour this summer. My last blog dealt with some of my concerns about this tour, namely the transportation. Freshly off of our return flight back to Seoul, I thought I would regale you with the tale of our two flights across the Pacific Ocean. In order to fully grasp the contrast of these two experiences, I have pinpointed a few aspects for us to compare.

Boarding

Flight #1

Chris and I thought that it would be a good idea to bring the babies’ car seats on board to have a place for them to sit without us holding them. We failed to take into consideration the fact that we don’t have a car here and that the babies had been in their car seats a grand total of one time, and that was to come home from the hospital. As it turns out, they didn’t so much like being placed in those contraptions and screamed any time they were in them, including walking down the aisle to find our seats. I watched fellow passengers’ eyes fill with fear as we approached and then sigh with relief as we passed by. Who would have to sit next to the screaming twins for the next 14 hours?

Flight #2

Checked the car seats and therefore we had extra space to maneuver in our seats as well as have a place for the babies to lay down flat to sleep. Babies board the flight in our arms and therefore happy. I watch as peoples’ eyes melt into adoration at the stunning cuteness of our daughters.

In flight

Flight #1

I’m just going to say this: there were tears. Lots of them. And I will admit that they were not all baby tears either. Despite our most desperate efforts, the screaming that began during the boarding process persisted through take-off, the first beverage service, and on through dinner. I had to inhale my food standing in the back of the plane while bouncing a baby up and down in an only mildly successful attempt to calm her down. Finally, we were able to get both babies asleep while we held them. I’m sure that I don’t need to remind you that this was a long flight. A very, very long flight. However, needing to hold the babies the entire time made it difficult to do some things that might have made our journey a bit more pleasant like, oh I don’t know, go to the bathroom maybe? Too afraid that our breathing might shake the fragile sleeping state of the girls, the only conversation that Chris and I shared was of the utmost importance. Mainly it focused on how we would never, ever even think about doing this again.

Flight #2

After finishing a feeding during take-off, we spread blankets on the extra seats and watched contentedly as the babies drifted off to dreamland for their nap. During this time, Chris and I were free to move about, stretch our legs, and even enjoy dinner. I took full advantage of the open season on the restroom and even made a little time to brush my teeth in preparation for the long flight. Chris and I chatted freely in reflection of the summer and our future plans for the upcoming year.

Disembarking

Flight #1

If I am appreciative of one thing about the first flight, it is that there were other families around us who also had babies and therefore didn’t cast as hateful glances at us and our screaming twins as I imagine other people might have done. However, these families’ babies didn’t make a peep during the flight. Not one little sound! While I consoled myself with the thought that they must have sneaked Benadryl into their bottles, I couldn’t help but feeling like a failure for not maintaining order in our little section of the plane. To confirm that my inadequacies were not just in my head, as we deplaned, one young mother handed me a list of parenting books and blogs that she thought I might find helpful in the future. Thanks. We crawled to customs, our defeated heads hanging low.

Flight #2

Deciding to finally wake the babies up from their slumber as we pulled into the gate, passengers around us still looked adoringly at the twins. Rather than receiving pitying advice as we gathered our belongings, flight attendants and travelers still commented on how cute the babies are. As we pranced onto the jet way, Chris and I beamed with pride and triumph. Take that, trans-Pacific! You may have bested us the first time, but we came out on top on the second-go-round.

I’m going to be honest. The success of the second flight hasn’t quite cured me of the trauma from the first flight but I think we will get there in time. This kind of emotional healing doesn’t happen overnight.

Ready or Not, Here We Come!

2011-06-08T19:42:00.001-07:00

Well, folks, this is it. Another year in the books. In a few short days, we will turn on the dehumidifiers, lock up our apartment, and head off to the airport to cross the Pacific back to the homeland. They tell me that there are just as many days in the year now as when I was a kid, but it is pretty hard to believe as this time of year always seems to catch me off guard. Nevertheless, here we are as I try to tie up loose ends and prepare for the long trek back to the States.

I would like to start off by stating that I am looking forward to seeing the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave once again. Dreams of pancakes, Chik-Fil-A, and reasonably priced watermelon have been dancing in my head for some time now. We can’t wait to introduce the BOGO’s to their adoring fans back in the US. Don’t worry, Chris and I have fully come to terms with the fact that the two of us have been unequivocally replaced on everyone’s “must see” lists by these two bundles of joy.

This being said, I have to express some concerns about the actual process of realizing my dreams of Chik-Fil-A and BOGO introductions. You see, in order to get us from point A in Seoul to point B in America, there is this pesky little thing called a trans-Pacific flight. For those of you who do much traveling, you know that flying isn’t a whole lot of fun. Crossing oceans is less fun. Crossing an ocean and then crossing the Continental United States is even less fun. Chris and I know this because we have done it several times now. But, we don’t need to be reminded that this year is going to be different. Why? Oh yes, those little bundles of joy are coming with us this time. In order to get myself in gear for this adventure, I thought I would put a few of my apprehensions in words and help myself process them.

Apprehension number one: Packing. For anyone who knows me or any of the other Loomis’, you know that our worth as a human being is negatively correlated with the size of our suitcases. When we pack, every corner is cut and we actually feel like failures if we don’t wear everything from our suitcase at least twice. (You should see the tiny backpack that my sister packed to come to Seoul for two weeks, and she fit in gifts for us and the babies.) Anyone who checks a bag on the airplane is deemed unfit for interaction with the Loomis family. Sadly, I have to put this training aside as I prepare to essentially move our entire nursery across the Pacific with us. Toys, diapers, wipes, bottles, clothes to grow out of and in to, burp cloths, car seats; and the list goes on. Note to those picking us up at the airport: I hope you have a lot of trunk space.

Apprehension number two: Claustrophobia. No, I haven’t suddenly become afraid of tightly enclosed places. I have a very deep fear of being in an enclosed place where people are trying to sleep and I have a screaming baby… or two. We are going to be those people at the gate at whom businessmen scowl, flight attendants cringe, and bring the rest of the passengers to their knees praying that they don’t get seated next to us. We are the lepers of the flying world. If there ever was a mother who wished that they made baby Ambien, it would be me. Did I mention Lucy might be teething? Note to people picking us up at the airport: bring earplugs. You’ll probably want them.

Apprehension number three: Jet lag. Now, I am not talking about a two or three hour “I just got in from California” kind of jet lag. I am talking about completely switching AM and PM and then some. With four month old babies. I don’t know how we got so incredibly lucky to have babies who sleep so well at nighttime and I don’t take it for granted. However, I have no idea how they will react when I try to convince them that the sleep schedule we have worked so hard to set in stone has to be modified once we hit the tarmac… and then switch back again in six weeks. Note to those hosting us: invest in some sleeping pills of your own… or invent baby Ambien.

Ready or not, here we come. Game faces, everyone, it is go time. That Chik-Fil-A better be good.

Back in the Saddle

2011-05-23T22:42:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, my time “solo mio” with the girls came to a close. I really wasn’t sure how I would take it. Before they came along, I proclaimed to those around me that I would unquestionably return to work without hesitation. This proclamation joined the ranks of other pre-motherhood gems such as, “We won’t need that many diapers, will we?” or “Tandem nursing will be a breeze, just look at how happy the mom looks in these pictures!” And of course, “I know what it means to be tired.”

Throughout my maternity leave, the idea of returning to work was associated with a wide range of emotions. Some afternoons, as I wearily rocked both screaming girls back and forth in a bootless attempt to soothe them until the next feeding time, I dreamed happily of the days when I could deal with teenagers again. I thought about being able to dress up without fear of being vomited upon and spending the morning not dealing with anyone else’s fecal matter. However, other afternoons I couldn’t imagine being more than an arm’s length away from those two smiling, squealing, cuddly little balls of joy who have irrevocably changed my life. So, as the hourglass ran out, I slipped on my high heels and wondered if I was doing the right thing. Was I shirking my motherly duties by having another person take care of my babies while I go off to do another job? Will they miss me too much during the day? Or, worse yet, will they not miss me during the day and find that they prefer the loving hands of someone who actually knows what they are doing?

I’m not going to lie. Those first few steps out the door on Monday morning were some of the hardest steps I’ve ever had to take. But, stepping back into my classroom being greeted by students and colleagues eased the pain just a bit. And, as the day wore on, I was reminded by how much I really do love my job. I love my students, I love my fellow teachers, and I just love teaching. I am blessed to be able to spend my days doing something that I am passionate about in a place that is incredibly supportive of working moms. Not only that, but I actually live about a stone’s throw away from where I work. I can literally see my apartment from my classroom window and can pop in if I feel the urge throughout the day (sorry Aunt Samantha and Aunt Tori, some days are more “urge-y” than others). Undoubtedly the biggest blessing of all has been to have two incredible sisters willing to come and take care of our little squirts while I am off gallivanting around teaching teenagers the wonders of conjugating –ar verbs.

So, am I doing the right thing by continuing to work and have someone else take care of my babies while I do it? Frankly, I don’t know. The fact of the matter is this: I love my babies and I love my job. Here’s to a lifetime of trying to make them both work.

Three Cheers for Literacy!

2011-05-03T21:21:00.000-07:00

I had two main goals that I wanted to complete during my maternity leave, other than taking care of babies of course. The first was to read Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. After reassessing what life with two new babies was like, this goal was quickly replaced by “survive”. Not to jinx myself just yet, but this goal has been attained so far.

The second goal I had for myself during my “time off” was to finally get on the stick and learn some Korean. Before moving here, Chris and I thought that learning it would be a breeze compared to the Chinese we had to learn while living in Taiwan. Korean isn’t tonal and it even has a phonetic alphabet for goodness sakes. However, here it is May of our first year here and we still know far more Chinese than we do Korean. And that is just plain sad, people… especially for a language teacher.

So, earlier last week I set out to remove this shroud of shame that has plagued me since we moved to Seoul. I determined that I would, at the very least, learn the alphabet and learn to count in Korean by the time I headed back to work on May 9. You know what? People were right. It really was easy! With the modern convenience of trusty ol’ Youtube, I was tutored by no less than half a dozen native Koreans on how to read, write and count.

My newfound knowledge has me feeling like a giddy kindergartener who has just learned to decipher Dr. Seuss for the first time. Signs and posters are now somewhat intelligible to me. No, I still don’t have any idea what they mean, but I can pronounce them, by George! That is something I was never able to do in Taiwan. A walk down our street has become a living classroom full of opportunities to practice my developing skill. Advertisements stop me in my tracks (much to Chris’ annoyance) as I attempt to sound out each syllable. “Sah, no wait, Seo.. … ul, Seo-ul, Seoul! That says Seoul!” While others around me may scoff at my 4-year-old linguistic ability, I have thoroughly impressed myself. And so I shall bid you a hearty 안녕히계세요 and go out and sound out some more words. I think that Laura Bush was on to something. Literacy is awesome.

Another Reason to Love Korea

2011-04-17T22:16:00.000-07:00

As you might imagine, getting out to run errands can be somewhat of a challenge since the BOGOs made their appearance a couple of months ago. Not having a car adds to this difficulty because, as it turns out, car seats aren’t actually that useful without a vehicle. Not only that but I’ve found that my purse and pockets don’t quite cut the mustard when it comes to the trunk space I often require. Last week, a friend of mine asked if I would like to go grocery shopping with her. There are three challenges posed by this task. The first two are named Lily and Lucy. The third is the fact that whatever I purchase must be carried from the grocery store back to my apartment without the aid of a trunk. When my friend offered to strap one of the babies on so that we could walk to the store, we solved our first two obstacles leaving us only with the third. Enter Korean brilliance.

In a city as big as Seoul, many people rely on public transportation and scooters to get around. This leaves many a poor soul without trunk space with which to transport goods from the store back home. To solve this problem, many vendors have made the move to offer a delivery service. “So what?” you may say. “Plenty of people around here deliver.” Here’s the thing. Since delivery service is so commonplace, this amenity is offered free of charge. But wait, there’s more! Not only is bringing your purchase to your door free, the delivery guy doesn’t stand in your doorway with his palm out waiting to receive a tip. No delivery fee, no tipping the deliverer, just items showing up at your doorstep. It is magical.

So, the grocery store that my friend and I visited was one of the many locations offering this delightful service. Sometimes, however, there is one speed bump in this perfect process. As foreigners, we often have difficulty communicating exactly where our newly purchased items are to be taken. The vendor often has an equally difficult time communicating exactly when we are to be home to receive our goods. Enter brilliance of this particular grocery store. Upon arrival, we went directly over to the customer service desk, handed them my ID card, and waited a couple of minutes. They filled out the necessary paperwork for me and handed me a card that the checkout person would scan when I purchased my food. This card evidently contains all of my information thereby circumventing any miscommunication about where my groceries are to be taken. Once purchased, the grocery store has a policy that the food will be delivered in the next 60 minutes thus allowing ample time to walk back home and have a nice stop off at a café on the way.

So my friend and I shopped to our heart’s content without a single thought about how much each item might weigh or how awkward it might be to carry. We went to the checkout, scanned our cards, walked home via an iced caramel macchiato and arrived at our apartments just in time to receive our goods. Magical. My only concern at this point is if they ask to put the information from my card on my wrist or forehead… meh, I guess I will cross that bridge when I come to it.

A New Friend

2011-04-01T05:56:00.000-07:00

I am quite ashamed to say that my skills in the Korean language are bad, and by bad I mean non-existent. In Taiwan, Chris and I picked up some survival Chinese and were able to get around at a functional level. However, here in Seoul we live on campus surrounded by other English speakers and we have not been forced to learn any of the local language. Despite promises made to myself to develop in this area of weakness, I have made no progress over the last year.

Nothing highlights this ineptitude more than when I hop into a taxi to venture out into the city. It is not usually because I don’t know how to say where I want to go, however. I have learned the names of certain areas and can pronounce them with at least some degree of accuracy. Instead, I am reminded of my language deficit when the taxi driver desires to converse with the crazy foreigners and their tiny foreign devil babies. Such a circumstance came about the other day when Chris, Chris’ mom and I set out on an errand that required a 20 minute taxi ride.

As we situated ourselves in the cab, we went through the usual charade session to indicate that we had twin girls who are two months old. This is often where conversations stop and I expected this one to end here as well. But, this particular cabbie was quite chatty. He proceeded to spout off in Korean a number of very important and interesting points about twins, Korea, and life in general… at least that is what I imagine that he was saying. After the first few minutes of chatting, we all attempted to give him a blank smile that usually communicates, “Hello, good sir, I am sure that you have valid points to make but unfortunately I cannot understand any of them as I am an ignorant foreigner who has not taken the pains to learn your language.” This blank stare did not deter our new friend, however. Through hand signals, very interesting sound effects, Korean, and a smattering of English, he proceeded to explain to us the ways of the world. Meanwhile, the three of us made it a sort of game to decipher what it was he was so intent on explaining to us.

“Japan blah blah blah *explosion sound followed by large hand gesture*! Blah blah blah Korea *high-pitched noise followed by hand gesture signifying something small*.” We nod slowly and take a few stabs at what he is explaining. Is he still talking about the twins or have we moved on to a new topic? He continues, “Blah blah America *small explosion sound and medium hand gesture*. China! Ha, China blah blah. *Laser sound and arrow hand motion*. Korea, Korea *small hand gesture again*. Japan *explosion sound and large hand gesture*.” We huddle together and discuss what he might be talking about. Was he explaining foreign relations? Was he talking about child-rearing traditions and when children are typically brought out in public? He continued on with increasingly animated sound effects and gestures.

Finally, Chris thought he had decrypted the message. “Tsunami?” he ventured. “Of course tsunami,” his tone responded as he continued to communicate through pointing and grunting. Our new friend resumed his game of charades with sound effects seemingly unfazed. We, however, held a mini-celebration at Chris’ incredible victory in comprehension. When we finally reached our destination, we were all glowing with satisfaction: our driver because he had informed the ignorant foreigners about important information regarding the tsunami; us because we had actually succeeded in comprehending one word of a twenty minute conversation. We have got to learn Korean.

Tickets, Please

2011-03-16T02:05:00.001-07:00

Babies are cute. No matter where you are or whatever feelings you have toward them, something about these tiny humans makes you want to pinch their cheeks and speak in high-pitched voices. Despite their stinky diapers and shrill 3:00 AM cries, babies have a certain magnetism that draws people in to ooh and aah over teensy fingers and itty bitty noses.

No one knows this better than our little bundles of joy because they have a double whammy of cuteness on top of the regular baby charisma. First of all, they are foreign. For some reason, foreign babies draw in an unusually large crowd. I don’t know if it is the steel blue eyes or the “tall noses”, but everyone from the check-out lady at the grocery store to the crabby taxi driver wants to sneak a peek at these mini foreign devils. Secondly, there are two of them. It is awesome to watch people’s faces melt into adoration when they see one baby and then light up again in surprise and delight as they realize that they are not having déjà vu but there are, in fact, two babies.

Going to the airport to pick up my dad brought the baby magnet experience to a whole new level. As we waited, it came about that both girls needed a change of diaper. So as to not miss my dad as he came through customs, I went to change the girls one at a time while my mom waited patiently at the exit door. As I set the first baby down on the changing table, I noticed a crowd beginning to gather. The women began to beckon their friends to come and take a gander at the Western babies. Never before had I seen so much interest in baby poo. When the change was complete, I made my way through the crowd to obtain baby #2. This change drew an even bigger audience. In fact, not only did I have spectators, I also had one woman participate in the diaper change. Without warning, she grabbed a baby wipe to clean her hands and proceeded to “help” me put the baby’s pants back on. She then swept away the dirty diaper to dispose of it properly. Had the experience ended here, I would not have thought too much of it. However, end here it did not.

My new helper now took it upon herself to see to the well-being of my children. She followed me out of the bathroom and pantomimed to me how my babies must be freezing because they were not wearing socks. After attempting to communicate that we appreciated her concern but that our babies were not cold, she decided to call in for reinforcements. She summoned the rest of her traveling entourage who all gathered around us to tell us to wrap up the babies because they were so cold. As we attempted to slip away, we found that each new circle of people made us feel increasingly like we were the newest exhibit at the petting zoo. Throngs of people circled around to look at the babies, grab their hands, stroke their hair, caress their cheeks, squeeze their toes, or whatever else they could get their hands on. I have to admit, at first it was a little fun to have others appreciate just how cute my babies are. However, after the five hundredth person decided to put their grubby paws on my pristine baby’s face, it lost its charm.

After much consideration, I have decided that the best way to solve this problem is to sell tickets, $5 to look, $10 to touch, $15 to give me advice. The proceeds can go toward all of the hand sanitizer with which I will shower people before they come close to the girls. What do you think?

Mission Impossible: Baby Passports

2011-03-01T16:21:00.001-08:00

As you are probably aware, international travel requires that one have proper documentation from one’s country of citizenship, namely a passport. While I didn’t have need of such credentials until I was in high school, our little bundles of joy will be making their first international voyage at the tender age of four months when we return to the United States this summer. Not only that, but making one’s residence in a foreign country also requires obtaining a visa of which our girls are also in need. As these documents take some time to process and we want to make sure that the little BOGOs are not illegal aliens when we bring them “home”, this week we decided to venture to the U.S. embassy in order to make Lily and Lucy officially citizens of the United States.

Most of the documentation process is relatively painless. As you might imagine, there are a plethora of forms to complete followed by several swipes of the credit card to appease good ol’ Uncle Sam. In preparation for our embassy trip, Chris filled out the necessary forms and made an appointment to hand in said forms. So far, so good. However, there is one part of the passport/visa process that strikes fear and anxiety in the hearts of parents around the world: the passport photo. If you have ever gotten your passport picture taken, you know that there are certain requirements about size, background, etc. that must be met for the photo to be valid. One cannot simply show up with the latest Glamour Shot to impress the customs agents. In the same way, there are requirements for infant photos. As might be expected, they also must have a white background and have a straight-on shot of their face. No problem. Here’s where things get a little ridiculous. Infant passport photos also require that they baby’s eyes be open, mouths closed, and their hands away from their face. Seriously? When has this magical trifecta ever occurred naturally in a three-week-old child? Excuse my cynicism but why not make them recite the Pledge of Allegiance while we are at it? Nonetheless, this was the task that my mom and I set out to conquer earlier this week.

Having received several recommendations for a photo shop near our school, we packed up the babies and said a little prayer for success. We headed to the photo shop where I hoped that the Korean owner would understand me when I asked him for “passport photos”. We were quite relieved when, not only did he understand me, he was also evidently aware of the perfect storm of requirements for these photos. We all prepped ourselves and geared up for a long afternoon in the photo lab. Much to my surprise, the babies cooperated so nicely that we were actually on our way out the door a mere 20 minutes after we arrived, enough time for my mom and I to enjoy a lovely celebratory lunch.

Pictures and forms in hand, we headed to the embassy to make our little babies legal. Everything was going swimmingly until we reached the last window before we were sent on our way. The nice lady closing out the girls’ files mentioned to us, “Oh, by the way, these photos won’t work.” What? Why not? We had achieved the trifecta! What more could she want? Was it indeed time for the girls to recite the Pledge of Allegiance? You see, the photos we had received were Korean passport size. We needed them to be U.S. passport size. Weary from a sleepless night and not a little frustrated, the nice lady directed us to a passport photo place near the embassy. So, off we went in search of said photo place. After following a map, we found ourselves standing in front of a photo booth. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we were expected to achieve the trifecta in a photo booth just like the carnivals when you were a kid and you took four photos of you picking your nose and sticking out your tongue. Frustration level rising, we found another photo shop who said that they could take the pictures that we needed in the size required by the embassy. So, we spread my mom’s white jacket over the red velvet chair that the photographer wanted to use as a background and we propped up the girls pleading with them to open their eyes and shut their mouths. Eventually, success was achieved and we received the painstaking photos. Wearily, we made it back to the embassy where the new photos were approved.

Here is the funny part to me. While the government requires these incredibly difficult specifications for babies’ passports in order for one to be sure of their identity, the passports that we will receive in a few weeks will be good for five years. Five years! That means that these precious moments will be captured in the BOGOs passports until their first day of school. Ah, Uncle Sam, how silly you are.

Diary of a New Mom

2011-02-19T23:32:00.000-08:00

For those of you who follow our blog, you may remember that about a year ago, I posted a marathoner’s diary about a marathon that I ran in Taiwan. Well, a year later, I find myself in a completely new type of marathon… new mother of twins. I thought it only appropriate to post a diary about this harrowing experience as well.

8:00 PM

Attempt to have “last feeding” of the day. Both twins fed, go to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. Ha.

8:10 PM

Twin #1 decides it isn’t time for bed yet and gets a little fussy. Wondering if maybe she didn’t eat enough at her last feeding and try to feed again. Soothing / feeding for an hour.

9:30 PM

Twin #1 goes down.

10:00 PM

Twin #2 wakes up ready to eat. Feed twin #2 and try to put her down.

11:00 PM

Twin #2 doesn’t want to go down. Wondering if she ate enough at her last feeding. Doesn’t seem interested in eating so try to rock her to sleep.

11:15 PM

Twin #2 goes down.

11:30 PM

Twin #2 begins to scream.

11:45 PM

Twin #2 goes down.

12:00 AM

Twin #2 begins to scream.

12:30 AM

Twin #2 goes down.

1:00 AM

Twin #1 wakes up ready to eat. Feed and soothe twin #1. Debate waking up twin #2 in order to eat and perhaps get her back on the same schedule as twin #1 since it has been a couple hours since she ate last. Wish that babies had a fuel gauge to tell me how much food they had in their bellies.

1:45 AM

Wake up twin #2 to eat.

1:46 AM

Regret waking up twin #2 to eat.

2:30 AM

Twin #1 fed and asleep. Soothe and put down twin #2.

3:00 – 5:00 AM

Sleep, glorious, glorious sleep for mom and grandma.

There are two lessons that I took away from this night. Number one, motherhood is one of the most demanding but by far the very best experience I have ever had. Number two, there is no way in the world that I could do this without my own mom here with me at each and every feeding providing an extra pair of hands, moral support, and some much needed comic relief when I am at my wits’ end. So, I would like to raise my proverbial glass to all moms out there and give you a shout out of appreciation. Go have a glass of wine (or three). You deserve it.

It's Not Whether You Win or Lose...

2011-02-12T22:18:00.000-08:00

By: Coach

When someone meets me one of the first traits they might notice (other than my dashing good looks) is my competitive drive. If you play me in anything I will devote 100% of my energy to beat you. Cards, video games, backyard football, it really doesn’t matter what the activity, I simply hate to lose. It started when I was eleven – my first year playing on a basketball team. Actually, it probably started when I was 8 and first caught the Auburn football fever. At any rate since a very early age competition has been a big part of my life and winning is the gage that measures one’s true competitive nature. I am 30 and not much has changed. I wear a t-shirt with a Vince Lombardi quote that says: “If winning isn’t everything then why do we keep score?” I love that, its catchy, it makes sense.

A really strange thing happened to me last night though. Before I go into detail I need to preface it with what should have happened based on the previous 8 seasons of being a high school basketball coach. The night should have looked something like this: I come in, I exchange unemotional pleasantries with my wife because frankly there is not a lot I want to say. I sit on the couch for several minutes not saying a word until I finally get up to get some food because I realize I haven’t had dinner. I eat dinner in total silence. I move back to the couch and watch SportsCenter or something mindless like that until I start to get tired and turn it off. I climb into bed and try to sleep, by try I mean lying there waiting for the ringing in my ears to die down so I can think better. But thinking is my worst enemy, it’s why I know there is no way I am falling asleep anytime soon. For hours my mind goes back and replays the game, quarter by quarter, play by play. Which plays does my memory bring back over and over and over again? A player fouling out, every single crucial call made by the ref, the missed layup late in the game, my technical foul. You get the idea. That usually describes what my nights are like following a gut- wrenching loss.

Yesterday the conference tournament was held here in Seoul for the JV boys. After starting the season undefeated, we took a skid and lost 3 out of the last 6 games leading up to the tournament. The last coming earlier this week as we suffered our only home defeat in the last regular season game of the season. Needless to say Wednesday night looked a lot like the scenario I laid out earlier (just no SportCenter). To make a long story short we got our revenge and beat that team in the semi-finals of the conference tournament. For the first time in my coaching career I found myself in a championship game at the end of the season. It was a very exciting game, one that went down to the wire (as championships should). Unfortunately we did not come out on top. My players were devastated. I had no idea what I was going to say to them after the game, this was uncharted waters for me. The dialogue that ensued was why I became a coach in the first place. Instead of my guys pouting and being “sore” they came together and verbally expressed appreciation for one another for an unbelievable season. It was like straight out of a movie! My players got it. Winning is NOT everything. The team and the relationships that form through difficulties is what really lasts. It was especially touching to see the whole team come around a player that had picked up a technical foul late in the game. He felt extremely bad and figured we lost because of his actions. The guys assured him that, “we win as a team and we lose as a team.” As a coach I try to use the teacher approach. I teach them all that I know, fundamentals, strategy and hopefully about life. Last night the teacher became the student. Last night I came home to my family and kissed my wife and told them about my team’s championship effort and how great of a season it was. I could barely eat my dinner because I wanted to tell her everything. I never even thought about turning the television on and sleeping….well it was still tough with 10 day old twins!

And Two Became Four

2011-02-04T03:49:00.000-08:00

Lily Cynthia: born February 2, 2011 at 11:41 am weighing 2.51 kg

Lucy Victoria: born February 2, 2011 at 11:42 am weighing 2.28 kg

The new loves of our lives

Are You Ready?

2011-01-30T01:10:00.000-08:00

Are you ready? This is the question that Chris and I are posed daily, if not hourly, by friends, family, store clerks, and anyone else who catches a glimpse of my imposing belly. And rightly so, as we are less than 72 hours away from doubling our family size. The question is expected and understandable. It is the answer that is a bit more complicated.

I can answer the more concrete aspects of this question with relative calm. Is the nursery ready? Why, yes, it is! The two cribs ready are to go with clean sheets waiting to welcome baby soft skin. The changing area is stocked with diapers, wipes, lotions, creams, etc. The dresser is crammed (and I mean crammed) full of the most adorable outfits that I just couldn’t pass up from carters.com. (Okay, I’ll admit it. I went a little crazy on newborn clothes. I know that they won’t wear them for long, but seriously, there is some evil genius out there designing baby clothes. The cute factor borders on ridiculous.)

Have I educated myself? I will go ahead and answer yes to this as well. For those of you who don’t know, I am a self-professed baby moron. I know nothing about these tiny humans or their habits and behaviors. I never was any good at the babysitting thing growing up and now I tend to hang around the pubescent crowd. Problems with girlfriends and college entrance exams, fine. Problems with colic and diapers, I’m lost. But, I have done my best to inform myself of the ways of the baby. My bookshelf is now stocked with Babywise, Happiest Baby on the Block, What to Expect the First Year, etc. While I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be a baby whisperer, I at least feel confident that I will put the diaper on the right end.

What about backup? After the “Are you ready?” question, the second question out of people’s mouths has been, “Do you have someone coming to help?” Happily, I have the best mother and mother-in-law in the world who will be braving the long trans-Pacific flight to endure sleepless nights and piles of diaper changes to come and help me out. They will be here to ensure that I do, in fact, put the diaper on the right end and to help me through the countless number of maternal freak-outs I will undoubtedly experience in the next few weeks. Not only that, but I also have an amazing baby-savvy husband who has been an incredible help over the past nine months and whom I am certain will continue to make himself invaluable in the coming months. So yes, I have called for backup.

But are we actually ready? I mean, are we ready to become parents? Now that, I have no idea. How do you make yourself ready for that? I’ve become quite accustomed to being responsible only for myself. How will I do when I have four tiny eyes staring up at me depending on me for their life and well-being? What will I do when they cry and I don’t know how to soothe them? What will I do when I realize that there are TWO of them and ONE of me? The only answer that I can come up with is this: I will cross that bridge when I get there. I’ve done what I know to do and now, I just wait. Ready or not…

Independence, who needs it?

2011-01-19T01:11:00.000-08:00

My exponentially expanding belly and constant comments about “any day now” serve as steady reminders about how life as we know it is about to get turned on its head. Don’t get me wrong, we are beyond ecstatic for the arrival of our little ones and I feel blessed to have made it this far in the pregnancy. However, I am also trying to make the most of the life of “coupledom” before our little family doubles in size. When my parents presented me with a salon day as a birthday present, I figured this would be a great way to spend a Saturday while Chris was away at a basketball game. Getting a few recommendations from my well-coiffed friends, I made an appointment with a stylist accustomed to cutting Western hair. (Trust me, it is different from Asian hair. If you don’t believe me, look at some of my pictures shortly after a Taiwanese haircut.)

I decided that I would venture out and find this salon on my own. I’m trying to get my fill of “on my own” now as I understand that will be quite difficult to come by in a few weeks. So, I wandered down to a main street by our school and hailed a taxi. I told him the area of town that I wanted and off we went. I had been to this area of town once before and I was convinced that I would somewhat easily be able to locate the salon in question. My dear husband often teases me about how much slack time I give myself as our travel days often turn into a “hurry up and wait” kind of experience. Following this pattern, I gave myself about 40 minutes for a jaunt that I calculated should take approximately 15 minutes. At this point, my main concern was whether or not the hair place would have a comfortable waiting area.

However, I noticed that the taxi was taking a few back roads with which I was quite unfamiliar. When he finally stopped, I knew I was in the correct neighborhood but not where I needed to be. Unable to communicate “take me to some place I might recognize like a subway”, I simply paid the man and stepped out, again, on my own. Surely the subway was around there somewhere and I would be able to get my bearings from there. So, off I went in search of the subway. Not the finest decision I’ve ever made. I zigged and zagged through alleys and main roads trying to sniff out the elusive subway. At one point, I attempted to get directions from a friendly 7-Eleven clerk who looked rather alarmed when this staggeringly pregnant foreigner wanted to walk all the way to the subway. I figured that was probably not a good sign. Keep in mind, finding the subway was only going to be a landmark for me and, judging by my directional prowess thus far, would probably do me very little good. So, at about five minutes until my appointment, I decided to throw in the towel.

I hailed the nearest taxi once again while simultaneously calling the hair salon. The following part of this story is why I love living in Asia. I explained to the person at the salon that I had an appointment but was unable to locate their whereabouts, would he mind directing the taxi driver? No questions asked, he agreed and I passed the phone to the driver who didn’t bat an eye as he astutely listened to his destination. He very swiftly took me in the exact opposite direction that I had been walking for some time. As I passed by the newly familiar shops and restaurants I wondered why I hadn’t just done this in the first place. But then, where is the adventure in that? A mere ten to fifteen minutes and about $3.50 later, I was at the salon’s doorstep. The helpful taxi and I parted ways and I was greeted into the salon with a warm cup of tea. This was followed by a lovely hair washing and haircut performed without giving me ridiculous 80’s style layers (again, see pictures of haircuts in Taiwan). Refreshed by my new style as well as my adventure gone awry, I once again found a taxi. This time, I knew how to direct him to our apartment so no phone call was necessary. That is a step in the right direction, right?