Northern Exposure

More than six full weeks have transpired since I, Erik R. Johnson the Brave and Triumphant, set foot upon this sacred land, this holy ground in which man, beast and bird call "Tennessee". For nearly two of those six weeks, I found myself quite indisposed by that wretched outbreak of poison ivy, easily among the most annoying of physical afflictions to ever befall a man. Once body, mind and soul were recovered from this vicious attack, however, I was again ready to go about my business of doing nothing in particular, precisely as I had planned. One day, as I was executing this plan of doing nothing in particular, something peculiar dawned upon me.

Had a thunderbolt struck near me, I couldn't have been more alarmed. It suddenly dawned upon me that having been surrounded by native Tennesseans (may God bless those that bear that honorable appellation), an inevitable adoption of the traits and mannerisms so prevalent amongst its native inhabitants had begun to silently encroach upon my person. In essence, I was slowly and unconsciously becoming one of them again, or more precisely, certain characteristics that had laid dormant for so long since the time of my humble origins as a snake wrangler were awakened and had begun to resurface. Most alarming of these mannerisms were the way certain words and expressions subtly crept back into my vocabulary. Words like "You all" and "Isn't" were replaced by "Y'all" and "Ain't". Expressions like "How unfortunate" or "This is not what I had anticipated" became "Dag-nab-it" or "Gosh dang-it". "I do not care" was replaced by "I don't give a lick o' beans". Expressions like "I respectfully decline your offer, thank you." were replaced by "I don't reckon I'd give a dad-gum bag o' blue bred chickens for that". And on, and on.

Anyways, it was thus clear that I was decidedly in need of some good ol' northern exposure. Perhaps, those Yankees would set me straight, I thought. And what better pretext to head north than a certain Melanie Elie's wedding, set to take place at 4 pm, July 9th in Ypsilanti, Michigan? None that I can think of. So, bidding farewell to ol' Tennessee, I removed my coonskin cap, placed my tobacco pipe and shotgun in a specially locked compartment, and proceeded to embark upon a journey which would last nearly a fortnight. Below is a rough sketch of my journey:


And so, leaving behind the rollings plains of middle Tennessee, northbound on that interstate system I drove, that system which, if viewed from space, might appear as a giant spider web sprawling over the landmass with little tangles of webs representing every major city. After 8 hours of traversing the fields upon fields of Kentucky bluegrass, which gradually become the fields upon fields of Indiana corn, I dismounted my vehicle in the northern Indianian driveway of a certain "Aunt Carla", or so shall she be called here. After enjoying a delightful chat and a splendid meal prepared by her own hands, I continued the long, arduous trek until I reached Ann Arbor, Michigan (or, more precisely, Ypsilanti) where it just so happened the wedding was set to take place. Here, I was reunited with old friends and familiar faces, some of which the reader may even recognize as the "Duke of Seoul" Luke Elie, as well as "The Benevolent Baron" Reuben Haggar (pictured below), two of the finest specimens of the human genus to be found. Melanie Elie (Luke's cousin and my former piano player on the music team in Korea) and a certain fellow by the name of Brian Herman were thereby joined in holy matrimony, and the festivities commenced. I even had the pleasure to meet a few seasoned members of the Elie family: "Rockin' Barb", "Large Marge", and "Flatulent Franz" - all of which were merry company.


After the bride and groom had sailed off to do whatever brides and grooms do on their wedding night, Luke, Reuben, and I joined forces and decided it would be a fitting occasion to ransack, ravage, and pillage the campus of University of Michigan. Indeed, screams of terror accompanied our arrival. The campus was, for the lack of a better description, nice. One of us proposed that a picture be taken with the locally famous U of M clock tower in the background. We discussed the proposition, weighing the pros and cons of such, and reached a mutual agreement in the affirmative. So, with my usual unassertiveness, I approached the nearest and least intimidating lady that seemed to be unoccupied at the moment, and kindly requested her cooperation. She gladly obliged. Then, much to everybody's surprise, she assumed the prone position, laying down flat on the ground, and adjusted the camera so as to capture the best angle. It was apparent that she was a professional photographer. She snapped a few photos, reviewed them, and with a sneer, began to hurl insults at my camera, exclaiming that she "does not work with cheap stuff like this" and "this camera is crap. I've seen cell phones cameras better than this." Despite the insults, she was easily the most diligent passerby that I had ever asked to take a picture. I graciously thanked her for time (even though, despite all her effort, the picture kind of sucked), and we continued our plundering of the university. Reuben and I parted ways -him to Niagra Falls to see his beloved brother, Luke and I head to Lansing, Michigan to stay with at the house of J.J. Davis (Luke's noble roommate in Korea, and whom I later learned that "Davis" was not his real name. How mysterious).

Next stop, Traverse City, Michigan. Being my first time in Michigan, Luke thought it fitting to give me ye ol' tour. And, that he did. It is roughly three hours from Lansing to Traverse City. At one point, we made a pit-stop at a lake park in "Cadillac, Michigan", whereby we noticed two young girls, probably no more than 13 or 14 years of age, who seemed in need of some worthy opponents to play some 2-on-2 beach volleyball. Considering that Luke is a volleyball coach, we agreed that we were worthy, and could probably score a easy victory. But, alas! Luke and I approached them, gained permission to play them in a quick round, and proceeded to get, pardon the term, "ghetto-stomped" by these two youngsters. We left embarrassed, hoping that no one had noticed what had happened.

Traverse City, the cherry capitol, is located on the northern tip of lower Michigan. If one were to drive through, one would quickly discover why it is called so. It is, perhaps, one of the more beautiful places I've seen as of late. Cherry and wine orchards abound. Lake Michigan's beaches rival those in Hawaii, minus the giant race of Samoans, and upon its water's surface you will see sailboats, jet-skis, and the sparkling glimmer of the summer sun. Fun, fun, fun...

Being the cherry capitol, it just so happened that our tour of Traverse City coincided with the National Cherry Festival, which mostly seemed like a typical carnival, only with cherries. And, it would be a crying shame if one attends a carnival without partaking in one of its most delectable treats - the Elephant Ear.


All was merry. That is, until... upon our return, the braking system exploded on Luke's most prized possession - a '97 Ford Windstar van. I understand that the terms "exploded" and "braking system" don't usually go together in the same sentence, but that is precisely what happened. Bang! The Luke-mobile was forced to coast along the road, using the emergency brake to slow down, in search of somewhere to stop. As we were coasting along at death defying speeds in excess of 12 miles per hour, a long string of cars were now behind us, waiting to pass. And, perhaps, this was just a coincidence - there were three attractive girls that Luke and I (mostly Luke) had sparked up some conversation with only 10 minutes prior at a nearby beach. They probably thought we (mostly Luke) were pretty cool dudes. Among the many cars that passed us, were these same three girls who undoubtedly recognized us as "that cool guy and his dorky friend". As they passed, we glanced over, and they appeared to be laughing at us, the bearers of great misfortune, who only a moment ago were so cool. Oh, how the tables turn!

Fortunately, some relatives of Mr. Elie resided in the nearby area. They took us in, hungry and weary as we were, and showed us great degree of hospitality. Many a meals were were devoured, many a stories were told, and many a laughs were shared. At one uncle's house, Uncle Richard if my memory serves me correctly, a high-stake wager of 15 cents was made concerning the year of OJ Simpson's car chase. I said 1994. Others foolishly claimed the year 1991. It is needless to say who was the new owner of a shiny dime and nickel, and who was bereft of it.

Meanwhile, the van had been repaired. It was time to hit the road again. First stop, Blackbeard's mini-golf course in downtown Traverse City, the site where many great men had fallen at the hands of Luke Elie's golf putter. Many threats portending of my impending doom were directed at me, but Luke's intimidation tactics were ineffectual, as water rolls off a duck's back. And, despite my weak start, by hole five the game was tied and stayed neck-and-neck until the very end. Cut-throat competition, it was. Unfortunately for my dear friend Luke, however, his threats proved empty and hollow. Fortune was on my side as it was on the Duke of Wellington's side in the battle of Waterloo. Luke, the Napoleon Bonaparte of all things sports, finally tasted bitter defeat and met his demise at his own personal battle of Waterloo. Where, oh death, is your sting!


Next stop, Sleeping Bear sand dunes national park. Go there. It's sweet.


Luke and I parted ways - he to Ohio enroute to Korea, and I to South Bend, Indiana. When I say South Bend, I really mean a small town between South Bend and Chicago called LaPorte, the humble origin of the Johnson family. During my stay in Laporte, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were all visited upon and reconnected with. Once again, many meals were were devoured, many a stories were told, and many a laughs were shared. Good times and jovial merry-making was had by all. I went together with the family of "Uncle Krys and Aunt Gail", whom I affectionately refer to as "K-rock and G-funk", and visited Michigan City Pier. Much fun was had, except for "Uncle Krys", who despises being exposed to direct sunlight.


During my stay in LaPorte, one of the best memories I have was touring the nearby campus of Notre Dame with a certain "Aunt Julie" (names may have been changed). And, although this statement may sound bold, this campus was probably the most beautiful I have yet to see thus far (sorry, University of Michigan) in the few short years I have lived upon this rock we call earth.

Take a look for yourselves, most judicious reader:


"Touchdown Jesus"

The "Notre Dame Basilica": Just in case you were wondering what that means, a basilica is a cathedral that holds the remains of a deceased pope or saint. For example, St. Peter's Basilica in Rome holds... (surprise!) the remains of St. Peter. This particular basilica held someone of importance, but please forgive me as my treacherous memory does allow me to recall it at the moment. Magnificent architecture.

Inside. This picture from my "crappy camera", as the outspoken lady in Michigan called it, does not do it justice. It was, perhaps, the most tranquil and serene church I have ever set foot in. Majestic.

A statue of Jesus on campus, something you will never see at an American public university:

The famous "Golden Dome". Standing atop this dome is St. Mary, which made sense after I learned that "Notre Dame" itself means "Our Lady". Marvelous.

Notre Dame was incredible, and I felt a special affinity for it since I had just finished reading Victor Hugo's "Hunchback of Notre Dame", although in reality it was nothing to do with anything on campus, except for the one hunchback I saw. Or, maybe that was just some fat kid with a large wart covering his left eye and shoulder pads on..

Many a time did our family venture out a packs o' wolves and ravage local restaurant establishments. And our pack o' wolves were fun, especially these two wolves that I had not seen in ages, Adam and Andrew Wolvenstein:


The culmination of the journey, the pinnacle, the apex was the following: meeting with frontman of the group formerly known as Slayer, Reuben Haggar, in Chicago to watch a Cubs game. In all honesty, he is probably the coolest dude I know. If not THE coolest, at least commanding a position in my top five. The unsuspecting inhabitants of the third largest in city in the US were laid to utter waste on the evening of Sunday, July 18th. But, it cannot be said that they were not warned:

This game was fun. We watched the Cubs decimate the Phillies, and although I have no real allegiance to the Cubs or even like baseball at all, I found myself swooped up in the euphoria of crowd, cheering for every positive development - stolen bases, strikeouts, fly balls caught, and of course, the multiple homeruns. Wrigley Field was beautiful as well, although I had already been there once with my brothers (The Guardians) last year.


But, alas, all good things must come to an end, my friends. And this northward excursion was no exception. After nearly a fortnight of being away, I was elated to see this sign on the road welcoming me back to Tennessee (God bless that state of our union):

The mountainous terrain of the Appalachians. The dense fog that seemed to roll along those mountains, almost as if God himself had wrapped the trees in white cotton candy. The towering rocky cliffs along the roads, which seemed as though God had sliced through with a giant knife, revealing the different layers of strata upon strata. The green low-hanging ivy growing over these cliffs. The luscious green foliage that topped the mountains, like tens of thousands of candles on a birthday cake. These all welcomed me back to my new eastern Tennessee home in beautiful Knoxville, my favorite city in the state. Upon crossing this state border, I once again dawned my coonskin cap, and vowed never to leave her again. Amen.

Milk, Honey, and Moonshine!

"Friends, Tennesseans, countrymen - lend me your ears!"


Yesterday, dear friends, I celebrated my first glorious week of being home in the beautiful state of Tennessee. "The Volunteer State", as some refer to it, named after the volunteer soldiers who fought so valiantly in the Battle of New Orleans. Or, as I refer to it, "The Land of Milk, Honey, and Moonshine". This beloved state offers everything a man could ask for: the rugged Appalachian mountains of the east, the gentle rolling plains of the middle, and the Mighty Mississippi River of the west. Sacred ground indeed.

A week ago today, at 5:50 pm on June 6th, I set foot upon this sacred ground. Exhausted from a painfully long trans-Pacific flight, I was in a crabby, foul mood. Further exacerbating my foul mood was my level of personal hygiene, which had fallen to record lows: there was enough grease on my face to fry an egg, and enough oil in my hair to lubricate a small engine. Various offensive odors of unknown origin seemed to linger around me; passengers in my general vicinity probably suspected a sulfur deposit to be somewhere near. Despite all this, upon arriving at the Nashville International Airport I was enraptured with an indescribable feeling of felicity, joy, and relief. I kissed the ground in celebration. I was finally home.

Splendid, old chap. I trust that the resynchronization of your circadian rhythms was speedy?

Speedy? Not really. The process was painful, as it usually is, but my body finally seems to be in sync with the central time zone.

I see. And, I trust that you have become accustomed to the Tennessean lifestyle, my good man?

Indeed. As they say, you can take a man out of Tennessee, but you can't take Tennessee out of the man.


Ah, and have you completed the herculean task of securing an independent means of transportation?

I certainly have, my imaginary interlocutor. For this feat, I employed my most trusted automotive adviser and master negotiator, Robert E. Johnson. The mere mention of this name strikes fear into the hearts of salesmen everywhere. His negotiating skills, merciless. His observations and questions, profound and piercing. His thick black mustache, intimidating. Together, we scoured the local car lots, leaving a trail of weeping salesmen cowering in our wake, and finally found and purchased a suitable means of independent transportation.

Well, well. It would appear as if you are making considerable progress, old sport. What's next?

Yet another good question. Allow me to elucidate. Over the summer months, Tennessee will rest in peace. Its children will play in the streets without fear of scary men in pin-stripe suits; its public restrooms will be kept free of smokers and loiterers; and, its stranded kittens will be rescued from trees. Crime rates will drop. Birth rates will increase dramatically. You see, the modern day equivalent of the Three Musketeers will serve as loyal protectors of the state, sheltering it from harm. Shall I introduce these bold, brave, and gallant guardians?

Yes, please!

Guardian #1)

Name: Jesse "Eats Glass Shards for Breakfast" Bowman

Favorite Song: "40 cent Meat and 10 cent Whiskey"

Greatest Strengths: Athletic prowess off the charts. Can drive a boat.

Frightening Attributes: Once crushed a grown man's skull with his bare hands.

Other Frightening Attributes: Rumored to have a skeleton composed entirely of titanium. And, suspected of being sent back from the future to crush all opposing baseball teams.

Favorite Weapon: Brass Knuckles. Baseball bat.


(As if that's not intimidating enough..)

Guardian #2)

Name: Joseph Bowman, aka "Cotton-eye Jo", aka "Mass Distributor of Pain"

Favorite Songs: "Whistlin' Dixie" & "Jimmy Crack Corn"

Greatest Strengths: Can hibernate at will. Almost ambidextrous. Dashing good looks.

Most Frightening Aspect: Has proclivity to inflict great damage on parked motor vehicles. Also, due to a radiation accident, rumored to have developed ocular laser beams.

Favorite Weapon: Motor vehicles. Crowbars.

Guardian #3)

Name: Erik "Dirty South" Johnson.

Favorite Song: "A Yankee ain't no friend of mine" & "Achy Breaky Heart"

Greatest Weakness: Unable to grow facial hair. Unable to whistle.

Greatest Strength: Musket sharpshooter. Has a hard pair of shoulders.

Most Frightening Aspect: N/A







The first two mysterious guardians are my brothers. (My other brother, Tony Bowman aka "T-money", is unable to join our summer adventures because he is experiencing the joys of Navy basic training. Poor guy.) However, the remaining three will combine their powers and risk all to protect Tennessee from the evils of the modern world.

How delightful, "Dirty South" Johnson! It's great to have you back! It sounds like this summer will, for the lack of a better word, rock!

That is, indeed, the hope. It's good to be back in western civilization. It's also good to be back with family. I like family a lot. Almost as much as I like lettuce:

The Korea Chronicles, Volume IX (Final)

So long, and thanks for all the fish!

Today, gentle readers, is my last day in Korea, the inimitable "Land of Fish". Where to start? Ah. Allow me share with you one of my more awkward experiences I've had recently:

When? Last Friday at around 10:30 pm. Where? I was traveling from Suwon to Yongsan via subway - a trip which takes about 70-80 minutes. I was on the last train, and it was packed. Among the many passengers, two girls on my right caught my attention. One of them appeared to be heavily intoxicated. Without warning, she suddenly vomited all over the floor, herself, and her friend. Yuck. This spectacle began to cause a stir. Now understand, dear readers, I mean to bring no harm or humiliation to anyone, but in my efforts to document life in Korea, I intended to take a quick photograph. Weird, I know. I was tired, and perhaps had a momentary lapse of reason? My hand surreptitiously crept into jeans pocket and pulled out my camera. Acting as if I was going to review some pictures, I inconspicuously pointed the camera towards the drunken public spectacle and snapped the photo. Unbeknowst to me, the flash was still on. This flash undoubtedly caught the attention of ever passenger on the subway. Crap. Embarrassed, but still in need of solid photographic evidence, I couldn't turn back now. I turned the flash off, snapped the photo again, and then furtively slipped the camera back into my pocket.

About 10 seconds later, a Korean man approached me. His fists were clinched and his face was red with anger. He looked as if he was greatly offended, as if the honor of his country was at stake. He said scornfully, in broken English, "Erase the picture." I looked at him. Our eyes locked as dueling rams lock their horns in battle. "Excuse me?", I asked, pretending not to understand him, and hoping that he would abandon his endeavor. His face grew even redder with indignation. and he repeated slowly, "Erase the picture". "Why?", I asked. "Very rude", he said. He was in the right, it WAS very rude. Not wanting to make a scene, I pulled the camera out of pocket, and deleted one of the two photos. I quickly turned it off and put it back into my pocket. I still had one photo that I hoped he didn't know about, the ace in the sleeve. "Now delete the other one", he said. Argh. Defeated, I succumbed and deleted the second one. By this time the two girls had disappeared from where they were. The man, too, walked off, leaving the surrounding passengers to sneer at me with great disdain. Seldom have I felt like such an "ugly foreigner" / loser. All for a stupid photo. Ugh.

Serves you right, you chump. Good!

Perhaps.

Eh, it's ok. You've done worse. Anything else been goin' on?

Heck yes! Let me tell you about my recent:

DMZ TOUR

I recently went on a USO tour of South Korea's DeMilitarized Zone, which, counter intuitive to its name, is the world's most heavily militarized zone. It is 160 miles long, and 2.5 miles wide, an allegedly filled with an astronomical number of landmines. Although I've read all about the DMZ, it was quite different experiencing it first-hand. A feeling of tension pervaded the area.

There have been four strategic tunnels discovered so far in South Korea. These tunnels were dug by North Korea decades ago to have a way to invade the south by going under the DMZ. Part of the tour was to visit the "3rd Tunnel", which lies about 27 miles north of Seoul. Yikes. Nearly 300 ft underground, it was about one mile long and about 5 feet high. I had to crouch through the entire thing. Ouch. And, unfortunately, photography was prohibited .

This is "World's Most Dangerous Golf Course". It consists of one single hole and is surrounded by landmines.

This is the JSA, or Joint Security Area. This is where members of the United Nations meets hold joint meetings with North and South Korea. The buildings themselves are built half in North Korea, half in South Korea.


The "Bridge of No Return". This bridge is a crossing point between the North and South. Eerie.


I was amazed at the size of this flag in North Korea. It stand 160 meters high, and is the largest flag in the world, weighing 600 lbs.


I'm glad I went on this tour. It's one of those "must-see" items before one leaves South Korea.

Cool!

Indeed. Speaking of cool, I have a question here from one of the coolest guys I know: Chris Girvan, of Alberta, Canada. It reads:

"Hey, Erik!
Sweet blog, eh? No dote abote it, as we say here in Canadia country, eh? My question: is there anything that you will NOT miss about South Korea? Thanks, eh! - Chris Girvan, Canada"

There sure are, Mr. Girvan. Allow me to introduce to you, the :

Top Ten Things I Will NOT Miss About Korea

1) Hoards of People

Here are the facts, readers. Seoul's population alone is over 10 million. The are 16,700 people per square kilometer, making it of one the most dense cities in the world. For a mental comparison, Seoul is roughly eight times more dense than New York city, which has only 2,050 people per square kilometer.

That's alot of people. At any given point, one can expect to be bumped, shoved, elbowed in the bread basket, knee'd in the shins, and /or have your head separated from your shoulders. Don't expect an apology, either. You won't get one. I have often found myself struggling with the temptation of dawning football shoulder pads / helmet and plowing over everyone in sight like a raging bull, leaving a trail of injured bodies behind. Fortunately, so far, I've been able to resist this temptation.


Look very closely. Can you find Waldo?


2) Vile Piles of Bile

Walk around the streets of Seoul on a Saturday night and you might find yourself amazed at the beautiful illumination. But be careful. You also might find yourself amazed at how you just stepped in a freshly spewed pile of vomit. And in the winter, if you are lucky, you may find yourself slipping on what appears to be ice, but upon closer examination, turns out to be the same pile of vomit - frozen to perfection. Yuck:

3) Obnoxiously Loud Fruit Trucks

"Peaches. Peaches. Come get your peaches. 10 for 3,000 won. 10 for 3,000 won. They're fresh. They're tasty. They're plump. Come get your johny stinkin' peaches!"

This is what you might hear as you pass one of these obnoxious trucks. Sometimes the truck is stationary. Sometimes it is driving slowly down a street, like an ice cream truck. Either way, with the aid of these blaring loudspeakers, they are incredibly annoying:

By employing a tape recorder, they can loop their sales pitch over and over. This comic strip echoes my sentiments well (Thanks, Rebecca Girvan):
4) Offensive Smells

Ah. "What's That Smell?" One of my favorite traditional Korean street games to play. Is it a sewer drain? No... Is it a large bag of fermented cabbage and other various rotting vegetables? Close, but no cigar... Hey, wait! Is it one of these monstrous piles of trash that can be found anywhere throughout the city? Yeah! You win!!

5) The "Dong-chim", or "Poop-needle"

Hey! Are those kids over there playing 007? It would appear so. But, upon closer examination, these kids are playing another traditional Korean game. It's called "Dong-Chim". Oh, how do you play? Step 1) Do the following with your hands:

Step 2) ambush an unsuspecting passer-by by poking your forefingers into his / her r*ct*m. Step 3) laugh at their painful reaction and run away! Oh, such wholesome fun! Below, Reuben Haggar, local expert, stands at the ambush ready position:



6) Motor vehicles on sidewalks

If there's anything that makes this mad caucasian man even madder than stepping in a vile pile of bile or being "Dong-chimmed", it's these people:

Hey, c'mon, Erik! What's the big deal about that?! Well, where I come from, sidewalks are for people who "walk" on the "side" of the road, hence the name. Ask any operator of a motor vehicle in Korea, and you would find that they disagree. They often pass by quickly, and within inches of grazing your appendages. I've often struggled with the temptation of clotheslining an oncoming motorcyclist and /or chasing one down and challenging him to a duel. Once again, the below comic echoes my sentiments towards these lawless men.
7) My Job

As it was my New Year's Resolution to "speak ill of no one", I will refrain from censuring anybody in particular (Ahem.. ahem.. my boss.. ahem..). I can't remember my time in Korea, however, without thinking about where I was employed for nearly 4 years. My office building was located on Yongsan Army Base, Seoul Korea. Interestingly, this building was constructed by the Japanese when they occupied Korea. Notice the star at the top. It was a symbol of the Japanese Imperial army (history buffs, help me out here). Also, notice the bullet holes in the buildings, left from the Korean War.

On my last day, I walked out of the gate, turned around and took this picture. A guard promptly approached me and asked me not to take any pictures. (He didn't insist on deleting it, though!). I obliged and walked away, never to see these wretched gates again:



8) Public Restrooms

Let's talk about Korea's public restrooms. My knowledge of women's restrooms is limited to one experience: I accidentally walked into one, did my business in a stall, only to walk out and notice several women - some giggling at me, some grimacing at me. Whoops. On the topic of men's restrooms, however, I am proud to say I hold far more expertise. Complaint 1) There is an old Korean lady mopping around your feet as you stand at the urinal. Complaint 2) Toilet paper is located in one large dispenser, typically at the entrance of the restroom. There is no "TP" in the stalls. Woe to the man who is unaware of this. 3) Some urinals are in plain view of passers-by outside. Apparently, Korea has yet to master the use of 90 degree angles.
9) People Cutting in Line

It was difficult to capture photographic evidence of this, but is it really needed? In America, the "line concept" is a holy, unwritten rule. You cut in line? Prepare for a beatdown. People in Korea, however, don't seem to share this concept. They are strict believers in the "cluster around an entrance concept". Old people are often the worse offenders here. They will masterfully maneuver their way to the front of the line as if they own the country. I've often struggled with the temptation of imitating these old people, out of curiosity.

10) Korean Winters

Brrrr. Cold. I thought that maybe, over time, I would get used to the winters here. Wrong. Each winter has been just as painful as the last. This most recent winter, in particular, has been particularly grueling. Korea is, by far, the coldest place I've ever lived. The indescribably cold winds come down from the arctic, piercing through your clothing, making even your bones shiver. Sorry, old man winter, but you will not be missed in the slightest.

Final Conclusive Thoughts

"Surreal" is the word I would use to describe leaving Korea after four years and returning home after nine years. It hasn't quite sunken in yet. And, it probably won't for a while.

One year ago, there were so many unanswered questions. Where to go? What to do? How to do it? In the course of the past year, these questions have been wrestled with, and its answers have been wrung out, like water is wrung out of a wet cloth. My time in Korea, which began so lonely and tumultuously, has come to an end in such peaceful felicity. I attribute much of this change to awesome, adventurous friends. These friends will be missed sorely.

And to Korea, I say the following final words: "So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish!"