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My bags are packed. I'm ready to go.
Apr. 1st, 2006 12:14 amGot to Seoul yesterday afternoon. The cabbie from the train station bilked me. I didn't know how far it was, so the rate seemed reasonable. If I spoke Korean (this has been my refrain since I got here) I could have done better. I wasn't fleeced, but I should have been able to pay less.
Went shoppies for souveniers to give to people back home. Insuldong is nice. A sort of crafty area. I needed some cash (my supply of won was not up to the price, of the dojonng I was getting my sisters so I tossed in some dollars, and got about a 15 percent discount, which made up for some of the cab fare. Since it was a dicker, I don't feel guilty about it), and asked the first American I saw for directions to the nearest ATM.
That was an adventure. The stroll there was easy enough, past a couple of buskers (one of whome was playing some Korean form of kena)but the instructions on the ATM were strange. Thankfully my bank refused to let me have the $700 I was asking for, in won, and I figured it out.
As I was heading back toward the shop where the presents were being made I saw a gallery (there are a lot of galleries in the area, as well as art stores, ceramics store, artists shops, and the like). It looked like some variation on Faberge eggs. I went in. I was greeted effusively. Asked if I needed help, and allowed to look around. Many of them were the work of the same artist. It seems this was the opening.
The primary artist (who works in everything from quail, to ostrich eggs) had a trio of kitschy looking eggs (neo-romantic fantasy, overdone crosses between back book covers and Hummel... it requires a lot of skill, but I think the effect cheap looking and trite) which took second in a California show. She (quite rightly) had the ribbons on display.
There was a floor lamp which almost defied belief. She had taken ostrich eggs and drilled the bottom out for a bulb socket. In itself that would have looked nice (the stand was a representation of ivy, and quite suited to the eggs) but she then pierced the eggs with flowing cut-outs. To put the final touches on it, she then carved the shells into bas-relief. It was a delicate glow, when lit, and when dark the tonal differences between the carved portions, and the parts which weren't were very nice. The thinner the shell got, the whiter it appeared.
None of this, however, compared to the Russian Orthodox church she assembled, from ostrich eggs, with goose eggs to form the cupola domes.
In front were pheasant eggs which had an oval removed, reveresed and attached, to make a place to pain the stations of the cross.
The sides had rectangles removed, and, a rectangle removed from that. With a filligree they were then used to make progressive windows.
When one squatted to look inside, the space behind the crucifix was glowing. She had painted a stained glass window behind it. The gilt gleamed and the light seemed to pour through the interior and shine forth.
They told me I could take pictures.
While I was doing so the asked if I would like them to remove the plexiglass cover.
Seeing it in the naked light, I was dumbfounded. Quite literally speechless. It was transcendant. I hope the photos do it half the justice it deserves. When I get home I will post them.
After that I tried to find the shop I had bought the chops from again. I got lost. Somehow (I think in the shop) I got turned around (I was like, Silverlock who having drunk from the Hyperion Spring, was giddy and light-headed. I wish you could all see it). I back tracked, found a land mark and cast about.
No joy.
I did some careful searching. Trying to fix landmarks (which I'd not made enough of, because I was making sure I didn't lose my guide. Put that in the mental notebook for the next time) and casting about.
I was pretty sure I was on the right track when I heard the flute. After that it was trivial to find it.
Supper called. I hadn't eaten all day.
Down an alley, "Volga Bistro" Various local dishes. Hrmmm. Drift down another alley. A menu which looks decent, and a traditional style interior. Populated, but not crowded.
I order a "Chicken soup with sweet" (the pork with bean card paste [which I took to be a typo; less exciting than the erstwhile special at the Sanamluang Cafe, "Steamed vegetarians over rice"] was denied me, because it was for two).
Three kinds of kimchee (the ubiquitous napa-cabbage one, which is the one everyone knows of, as well as a slightly pickled dish of spinach leaves, which has been at every Korean meal I've ever had, and a chewy set of julienned root vegetable. It might have been parsnip), and a dish of salt were brought to me, as well as "CASS Fresh" which I was assured was full of, "Fizzy Refreshement" because it wasn't pasteurised. It was plainly a rice and barley beer, but it was good. Slightly sour at the front, but there were malty notes at the back. Later (when I was chasing kimchees with it) it had a decidedly sweet note. The finish was clean. It was never cloying.
When my soup arrived it was the normal style. Clear broth, with scallions and rice. It was in a small ceramic pot, and boiling with a fine froth. In the middle was a chicken, about the size of a cornish game hen. As seems to be typical there was no salt in the broth. The salt in the dish was yellow-grey. A flake sea salt; very tasty with a slight fush note.
As I was heading toward finished the pair at the table next to me started to talk. They, it seems, were tourist from Hong Kong. We passed a few minutes in the natter of people making small talk, taking comfort in the bond of being strangers in the same place. She said they had enjoyed the trip. The people had been nice, except for the men. I allowed as I didn't suffer from that aspect of things, and she laughed. She had a very nice laugh.
I caught the subway back (I'd taken a cab there, from the base) and rearranged my bags, so that all is pretty much in order. All I have to do in the morning is pull my clothes on, turn in my linens, walk to the Dragon Hill Lodge (where I left my duffles at the bell desk) and hop the shuttle to Incheon.
I'll touch down in Narita, and fly on to SF, where I will arrive some 40 minutes before I left. Seven hours after that I'll board a plane to SLO.
Anyone who wants to meet me, well I have no way to be certain of connecting. Drop me a line, I'll try to check this in the morning, and then I'll send you a private message with my cell number. You can leave me a message, or try calling after noon, by which point I should have cleared customs.
Went shoppies for souveniers to give to people back home. Insuldong is nice. A sort of crafty area. I needed some cash (my supply of won was not up to the price, of the dojonng I was getting my sisters so I tossed in some dollars, and got about a 15 percent discount, which made up for some of the cab fare. Since it was a dicker, I don't feel guilty about it), and asked the first American I saw for directions to the nearest ATM.
That was an adventure. The stroll there was easy enough, past a couple of buskers (one of whome was playing some Korean form of kena)but the instructions on the ATM were strange. Thankfully my bank refused to let me have the $700 I was asking for, in won, and I figured it out.
As I was heading back toward the shop where the presents were being made I saw a gallery (there are a lot of galleries in the area, as well as art stores, ceramics store, artists shops, and the like). It looked like some variation on Faberge eggs. I went in. I was greeted effusively. Asked if I needed help, and allowed to look around. Many of them were the work of the same artist. It seems this was the opening.
The primary artist (who works in everything from quail, to ostrich eggs) had a trio of kitschy looking eggs (neo-romantic fantasy, overdone crosses between back book covers and Hummel... it requires a lot of skill, but I think the effect cheap looking and trite) which took second in a California show. She (quite rightly) had the ribbons on display.
There was a floor lamp which almost defied belief. She had taken ostrich eggs and drilled the bottom out for a bulb socket. In itself that would have looked nice (the stand was a representation of ivy, and quite suited to the eggs) but she then pierced the eggs with flowing cut-outs. To put the final touches on it, she then carved the shells into bas-relief. It was a delicate glow, when lit, and when dark the tonal differences between the carved portions, and the parts which weren't were very nice. The thinner the shell got, the whiter it appeared.
None of this, however, compared to the Russian Orthodox church she assembled, from ostrich eggs, with goose eggs to form the cupola domes.
In front were pheasant eggs which had an oval removed, reveresed and attached, to make a place to pain the stations of the cross.
The sides had rectangles removed, and, a rectangle removed from that. With a filligree they were then used to make progressive windows.
When one squatted to look inside, the space behind the crucifix was glowing. She had painted a stained glass window behind it. The gilt gleamed and the light seemed to pour through the interior and shine forth.
They told me I could take pictures.
While I was doing so the asked if I would like them to remove the plexiglass cover.
Seeing it in the naked light, I was dumbfounded. Quite literally speechless. It was transcendant. I hope the photos do it half the justice it deserves. When I get home I will post them.
After that I tried to find the shop I had bought the chops from again. I got lost. Somehow (I think in the shop) I got turned around (I was like, Silverlock who having drunk from the Hyperion Spring, was giddy and light-headed. I wish you could all see it). I back tracked, found a land mark and cast about.
No joy.
I did some careful searching. Trying to fix landmarks (which I'd not made enough of, because I was making sure I didn't lose my guide. Put that in the mental notebook for the next time) and casting about.
I was pretty sure I was on the right track when I heard the flute. After that it was trivial to find it.
Supper called. I hadn't eaten all day.
Down an alley, "Volga Bistro" Various local dishes. Hrmmm. Drift down another alley. A menu which looks decent, and a traditional style interior. Populated, but not crowded.
I order a "Chicken soup with sweet" (the pork with bean card paste [which I took to be a typo; less exciting than the erstwhile special at the Sanamluang Cafe, "Steamed vegetarians over rice"] was denied me, because it was for two).
Three kinds of kimchee (the ubiquitous napa-cabbage one, which is the one everyone knows of, as well as a slightly pickled dish of spinach leaves, which has been at every Korean meal I've ever had, and a chewy set of julienned root vegetable. It might have been parsnip), and a dish of salt were brought to me, as well as "CASS Fresh" which I was assured was full of, "Fizzy Refreshement" because it wasn't pasteurised. It was plainly a rice and barley beer, but it was good. Slightly sour at the front, but there were malty notes at the back. Later (when I was chasing kimchees with it) it had a decidedly sweet note. The finish was clean. It was never cloying.
When my soup arrived it was the normal style. Clear broth, with scallions and rice. It was in a small ceramic pot, and boiling with a fine froth. In the middle was a chicken, about the size of a cornish game hen. As seems to be typical there was no salt in the broth. The salt in the dish was yellow-grey. A flake sea salt; very tasty with a slight fush note.
As I was heading toward finished the pair at the table next to me started to talk. They, it seems, were tourist from Hong Kong. We passed a few minutes in the natter of people making small talk, taking comfort in the bond of being strangers in the same place. She said they had enjoyed the trip. The people had been nice, except for the men. I allowed as I didn't suffer from that aspect of things, and she laughed. She had a very nice laugh.
I caught the subway back (I'd taken a cab there, from the base) and rearranged my bags, so that all is pretty much in order. All I have to do in the morning is pull my clothes on, turn in my linens, walk to the Dragon Hill Lodge (where I left my duffles at the bell desk) and hop the shuttle to Incheon.
I'll touch down in Narita, and fly on to SF, where I will arrive some 40 minutes before I left. Seven hours after that I'll board a plane to SLO.
Anyone who wants to meet me, well I have no way to be certain of connecting. Drop me a line, I'll try to check this in the morning, and then I'll send you a private message with my cell number. You can leave me a message, or try calling after noon, by which point I should have cleared customs.
