Home Making

"Tastes just like homemade..." they say.

There are two kinds of people in the world. (Yes, yes, I know: those who say there are two kinds of people in the world and those who don't.) One kind is me. The other kind is people who, upon tasting something delicious in a restaurant/cafe/coffee shop/diner/bar/deli immediately think to themselves, "How could I (re)create this at home?"

You know what I hear in that question? "Wow, I've just eaten this delicious meal or perhaps I'm still eating it, and isn't it nice to sit here relaxing and enjoying it with my friends in this beautiful ambiance overlooking the water, or perhaps I'm having a quiet lunch with a book in my go-to spot, or maybe we're celebrating and accompanying this food with lots of wine on a fun night out. and all I can think about is how I could eat the same thing, but with more work involved on my part!!"

I'm thinking about this because I was listening to NPR's Morning Edition this, well, morning (duh) and I heard the host introduce the next story by asking, "Do you like Nutella? Well, you can make Nutella at home!" and I'm just over here all like, "But why? Why would you want to?" Of course the story proceeded to answer that question (nothing new here, folks: it's cheaper! it's healthier to not have the commercial preservatives and stabilizers that sometimes appear! it's "fun"! that last being debatable, of course) but mostly it proceeded to make us listeners spend time with one of the America's Test Kitchen  chaps who talked about how to make your own graham crackers and kale chips.

Personally, I have other things that I want to spend my time doing besides making my own graham crackers. That's not to say other people shouldn't make their own graham crackers. Two kinds of people!

But I have actually talked (you might say: argued) about this before with Brian. He and I disagree about what's a fun/appropriate time to spend cooking at home. I'm more into cooking/baking (mostly baking) things spontaneously, for fun. I actually get annoyed when I have to cook because I'm hungry. It's like having to do laundry before you can get dressed. One day, I thought maybe it just comes down to a two-kinds-of-people thing, and I compared it to buying a home espresso machine. Remember when that happened for a little while? A bunch of yuppies/earthy-crunchies/hipsters were all about getting their own espresso machines. Did that trend go away? Or did all the people who are going to buy one just take care of that already and now the market is done with that particular durable good until another generation or two goes by?  Anyway, I still remember the first person I talked to about that. I was a very young twentysomething in L.A., and a friend who worked in the cafe at Borders!!  I must emphasize this point!! started telling me about how she wanted to get an espresso machine for her apartment and so on and I just stood there staring at her. She didn't even have the "it's cheaper!" excuse because she worked there and had the whole free coffee/employee discount/I do this all day/access thing going on. She just wanted to have an espresso machine at home to be able to make espresso drinks at home, as did a bunch of other people who moved from having just coffeemakers to having espresso machines on their countertops and I just sit there thinking, no. I WANT to go to the coffee house! I want the barista to make it for me! Two kinds of people.

So when I had this epiphany, I told Brian that I just couldn't get inside the head of someone who's sitting there in a restaurant enjoying something and their first thought is, "I should make this at home!" My thought is: no, I shouldn't. I should enjoy it here. I should be here now.  And I certainly shouldn't think I can one-up this chef's delicious creation.

That's another part of the equation that confuses me. I enjoy going out to eat (not really in an expensive way, but in an Anna's Taqueria/take-out/street food way) and I am hard-pressed to think of any friend or relative who has ever made some particular dish that tastes better than what I can get in a restaurant, but I can think of plenty of restaurant foods that taste better than what I can get in a friend's/a relative's/my own kitchen. Let's see, I'm thinking...Brian makes a lot of delicious marinades for grilling and I understand the fun grilling out/summertime (with a beer, please, thank you)/tailgate grill/cook-out tradition, and he makes these amazing delicious burgers on the grill that will definitely blow you away, taste-wise...you know, if you like to eat meat... but I can't think of much else. There is no sandwich/pasta/potato/ burrito/enchilada/ stir-fry/salad/cake/curry that someone has ever made in a home for dinner that inspires me to not go back to a professional for sandwiches/pasta/potatoes/burritos/enchiladas/ stir-fries/salads/cakes/curries. I mean, don't get me wrong. Brian can (and does!) make delicious food. I'm all for people making delicious food. What I don't relate to is sitting in an eating or drinking establishment enjoying something delicious and pondering how I could do it myself instead of enjoying the convenience of paying someone to do it for me.

So when we had this conversation a few months back, Brian didn't really understand how interesting this insight was to me, that there are just two different kinds of people, one kind (me) who sit there enjoying their food in the restaurant, and the other kind who sit there wondering how they can do the work themselves to enjoy that food with more effort at home. Then it was really funny to me because a mere week or two later we were in a great breakfast spot in Detroit with his parents -- we're talking all the good Yelp! reviews and whatnot, that we found by searching "Best breakfast Detroit" and all that -- and while we're enjoying the pancakes that are so good and I'm plotting how to return there in the future for more pancakes or waffles or whatever, his mom pipes up, "I could make pancakes at home!" and I'm like, "Eek! See, Brian, this is what we just talked about!" and I thought it was really funny but Brian doesn't think it's really funny because he thinks I'm being mean (?) or something because I don't really jam out in the kitchen with him and his parents (which, they are there all the time. In the kitchen, I mean. Hours. Every day.) but it's not mean, it's just: two kinds of people in the world. There's me, and there's his mom.

There's "How great is the world that we can all be in a society and divide up our duties to sustain life, like some people build the roads, and some people design the houses, and some people work in the hospitals, and some people write the books, and some people make the wine, and restaurants exist and some people cook delicious food and I pay them and then I eat it!" and there's "I'm going to make this!"

Which kind are you?

Querétaro with six weeks to go

It's a relaxing Friday evening at home. I've got the baseball game on TV (trying to decide which of the Atlanta Braves' recent playoff nemeses to root against, San Francisco or St. Louis?) and I'm attending to various tasks, both functional and creative, on my to-do list.  I'm also rather enjoying some cookies that I bought at the Mercado Escobedo earlier today. I have time to get a bit of writing and reading done.  All in all, like I said, a relaxing Friday evening at home.

And that's the weird part. We've had so many homes over the past few years, and in so many different countries, to boot! I've always moved a lot (home ownership and settling down are maybe the last two things on my list of life priorities) but I've also enjoyed my recent periods of (what passes for) stability of two to four years in the same place, in Brooklyn and in Boston. (Hmmm, B----n, coincidence? Perhaps I'm destined to settle down in ... Bhutan! Or Bahrain. Maybe Berlin?)

We've had some really great homes during these years of galvanting, Brian and I have. Even our short-term homes, like Baan Suwaan in Phuket, Thailand. (There's that B------n theme again, although in that case it's the name of the hotel/apartments.)  I wanted to stay in Baan Suwaan forever! If we hadn't made post-Phuket plans, like with an already booked plane ticket, we would very likely have kicked it there for a few months. Ahhh, Phuket.

Our main apartment in Andong, Korea was awesome, too. We really dug living in Ok-Dong (Ok-Dong kitties! and the restaurants, my goodness) and if we hadn't been moved to the new and improved digs above the new Avalon school location, we just might have been persuaded to re-up for one more year teaching at Avalon.

And Chicago...sigh. I miss living there a lot. Our apartment was in the Best. Location. Ever! (thanks, Sara and Houston) and I loved it, and I did all sorts of things and I barely scratched the surface of that city in one year. I mean, we are definitely planning to go back, but when I start thinking about Chicago I start getting really depressed, because it reminds me that there is such a big world to live in and I just want to live in all of it. I want to live in the U.S. (in Chicago, and L.A., and New York, and Boston, and sometimes Tucson and Atlanta and D.C. as well) and I want to live outside the U.S. (ZOMG! So many choices!!!)   Why is that so much to ask?

I'm sure you can tell why I'm thinking about these things. Our Mexican time is ticking, and with only six weeks until my Next Big Move, I have definitely started getting that mix of thrill and anxiety that comes with determining just what exactly the Next Big Move is.

Meanwhile, let's review. What are some of the things I have most enjoyed about living in Querétaro 

1. The PLAZAS!  We live right across the street from Querétaro's Centro Historico area, which is thanks to Brian ensuring he got us a great pad in this area, when he was here for two weeks before I came, so kudos to Brian! I love, love, love strolling across the street and wandering around the andadores amid the colored colonial architecture. I love that there is pretty much always an event happening on the Plaza de Armas -- music, art, literature, crafts, concerts, festivals, performances of some sort, all the time. And that doesn't even mention the other plazas I love, like the Jardín Zenea or "our" plaza, the one on our cross street of Ezequiel Montes, with the fountain and light show and dramatic opera-like music.  Yay, plazas!

2. The food - obviously. And I can't even try to summarize it all here, but let's just say I was clearly meant to come to Querétaro because their local specialty, enchiladas queretanas, are cheese enchiladas with potatoes. I mean, this basically screams "Linda! Eat me!"

3. It's the little things, but I sure do like it when people as they leave a restaurant/cafe say "Buen provecho!" to the other patrons who are still eating. Brian and I are pretty proud of ourselves every time we provecho our fellow diners on our way out. 

4. I could keep talking about food and restaurants for a long time, so let me just give a few shout-outs: Tacos Tucson. Our dearly departed guajolotes/enchiladas queretanas place that seems to have recently closed. Bisquets. Cafe del Fondo. Tacos El Pata. Cafeto. Tacos Goyo. Other street tacos places and holes in the wall and little random discoveries. ChilaKing (do I have that right? our local chilaquiles spot). THE BLUE MASA GORDITAS PLACE!!!! Yes, I am shouting. None of you have really lived, because you haven't been to the blue masa gorditas place. 

5. The Arcos. That's what we call Querétaro's aqueduct, because of its many 20-meter high brick arches. It's awesome. It's a symbol of the city. I see it all the time. I dig it. 

That's just a taste. I have not been a prolific blogger from Querétaro, for reasons that I shall elaborate upon once I'm out of here, but just so you know: if you're on the fence about coming to Querétaro, I do recommend it. Bring an appetite. 

Printing! And other stuff!

Today I visited Querétaro's Museo Nacional de Artes Graficas, aka MUNAG. I would translate that for you, except that if you speak English and you can't reasonably figure out what that translates to, then I don't really have a lot of sympathy for you, to be honest. Anyway, the coolest thing about this museum is that it contains the oldest printing press of the American continent(s). It's from 1539 ish. I couldn't believe I got to just stand there looking at it and I could even touch it. It is made of wood and has a giant screw in the middle (I mean, really big) that twisted to press the plates. It was cool. I like printing presses. So revolutionary!

In fact, this museum had lots of information about the history of printing in Mexico, both pre-Hispanic and during the colonial terrorist period and during the independence century and the revolution and so forth. There were stone and wood (I think) and maybe clay stamps and other tools that were used centuries ago by the indigenous peoples, and there were lots of old things and lots of information about the various printers who did their thing during the 1500s or 1600s, sometimes infuriating the Catholic powers that be. There was a list of which kind of books were unacceptable to the Church and which were acceptable. The acceptable list was about a fifth as long as the other list.

All in all it was a nice museum visit, and it's located in a beautiful old courtyardy colonial architecturey house in the Historic Centro. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon in downtown Querétaro, as usual.

The rest of my day has consisted of a lot of reading (newspapers, my new Borges book) (in Spanish, btw!) and catching up and watching the Yankees lose (always a good time) and so on.

Seven more weeks in Querétaro! I might have to start a serious countdown of things that remain, Like, only three more annoying Friday evening shift/Saturday morning shifts...only 42 more car rides that have the potential to make me want to stab myself in the eyeballs with a toothpick ...definitely fewer than 50 possible days on which I will have to deal with cockroaches...and so on. But then my countdown is also a little sad, considered from the other perspective: only six more weekends to galavant...and fewer than 50 days on which to eat all this delicious cheap delicious delicious cheap delicious food.  I kind of want to eat enchiladas queretanas every day for the next seven weeks. And also everything else.

Querétaro Block

I'm in one of those blogging funks, wherein I just don't seem to have that compulsion to share my thoughts with the world, as The Wonder Stuff sing. I hate it when that happens. There is a tiny little part of me that worries it's because sharing pithy comments on Facebook and Twitter gets my venting and ranting out there into the world, leaving no more desire to blog, but as much as I want to push that thought away in a great fit of denial, I truly don't think that's what's behind the blogger's block. I think being in a relationship is the single greatest difference between my current blogging and my blogging as I once did, because in the beginning I was very much a this-is-me-against-the-world blogger, and now I'm not like that. Which is interesting.

There's also the fact, however, that I CAN'T blog about some of the things that are foremost on my mind. I mean, besides the cockroaches. I could blog endlessly about cockroaches. But believe it or not, there are many other things on my mind here in Mexico, despite what James Taylor would have to say about that, and unfortunately I can't put some of them on the web for the world to see and that is annoying to me. I don't like doing things and being in situations that I can't openly blog about. I'm not into secrets like that. (This, in the end, is why I really can't be a politician or work for the government. I'm just not into being secretive about what I'm doing.)

So, apart from the annoyances that have to stay under wraps (and apart from the cockroaches) Querétaro is actually all right!  Festive red, white and green decorations have stated popping up around the Centro, and I am getting excited about the upcoming Independence Day celebrations. (We've been over this, but for those of you who have forgotten: no, Cinco de Mayo is not Mexico's Independence Day; rather, it's Sept. 15-16.)  The rainy season seems to have sort of stopped, but we still get occasional rains, and rain in Querétaro tends to be a torrential downpour of biblical proportions that can really cramp your style for a fewhours. Brian and I have been enjoying our weekends in town by hitting up restaurants, plazas, and so on here in the historic Centro area where we live. I've pretty much become comfortable and even occasionally rather zen about driving the stick shift. Also, I've been running. The first few weeks here I was not at all into running because even when walking around the neighborhood in shorts listening to my MP3 player I did not like the looks and comments I got from men, all machismo-ed out and reminding me of the Latin-male catcalling in Brooklyn when I ran, only worse. But Brian discovered a great path on which to run to the big Alameda (park) just over a mile from our place, and now that I have that running route it's all good and I can do my running thing without being bothered. There's a Querétaro marathon (and half marathon and 10K and 5K) coming up in a little over a month, and I'm pretty sure I'll run the 10K.

All I want to do is read and have more time to read and write. I was actually supposed to have more time to read and write here in Mexico, but that's one of the annoyances actually - I don't have as much time for those things as I thought I would. However, I am reading cool stuff, when I have time to do so, and even sort of regularly updating my Literary Supplement with my book thoughts, most recently Grover Cleveland, and now I'm in the middle of a Salman Rushdie book.

We've met interesting people here in Mexico, including a couple of people who are currently in the midst of a bicycle trip through Mexico. Bicycles! On the highways! Isn't that so totally awesome and fearless?

But time marches on, summer has come to an end, my nephews and nieces have started school back in Phoenix (not that I ever get updates from them or my sister, but I know that they have), kids have started back to school here in Mexico, food here is delicious, the prices of eggs are in crisis because of a strain of avian flu in some Mexican state or other, I more or less get to keep up with all the batshit insane politics back home in the states (and the shocking level of ignorance about basic human biology that passes for acceptable in our elected officials), and there's still so much to see and do and learn in the world!

One very interesting thing I came across recently was a man named Xokonoschtletl.  He was speaking to a small crowd in Mexico City, near the Zocalo, about Tenochitlan and the destruction by Spain/Cortes etc. of the Aztec civilization, and how Montezuma's crown/headpiece is still in Austria, and how good-but-ignorant so many modern-day people are, and how people buy hook line and sinker the propaganda of the powerful, continuing hundreds of years of imperialist terrorism. I could have listened to this guy forever. Later, I looked him up (based on his book, Juicio a Espana) and discovered that he is in fact a somewhat known activist and speaker and whatnot. He should be even better known; he's awesome. You can watch him on YouTube or visit his web site. I'm so glad I randomly came across him. I loved Mexico City, p.s. I love learning about Mexico and its past.

Because really, the best thing about being in Mexico has been learning more about Mexican history, and the indigenous struggle, and the pre-Hispanic civilizations, and the continuing traditions, and all of that. I mean, don't get me wrong, I REALLY like the food here. But the food has been exported. I really think this historical cultural knowledge has not been exported at all. Even in neighboring Arizona, where we think we have so much experience with Mexico/Mexicans, we are missing so much of the story.

South of the Border

And so Linda Without Borders has arrived in Mexico.

Perhaps it was destined to happen; after all, I was raised in a state famously obsessed with border issues, and that particular border happens to be a Mexico one. Yes, a line drawn in the sand indicating where some folks think the Mexicans should halt -- although that land they are trying to "defend" was actually Mexico longer than it has been Arizona, but who's counting?  The indigenous peoples, you say?  Oh, aren't you quaint.

Anyway, selfish Europe-derived settlers aside, here we are. At the moment we are in Queretaro. The city of Queretaro, emphasis on the second syllable, is in the state of Queretaro, and it has about a million people and a whooooole lot of big businesses, factories, and international companies. It also has a lot of English language schools. Coincidence? You decide. Regardless, there are definitely English teaching gigs to be had here, and here we are!

When I galavanted off to Korea, the first things people tended to think of were M*A*S*H, kimchi, and the so-called threat of North Korea randomly invading. When I galavant off to Mexico, what do people think of? It seems there are two thoughts that pop into most minds, either:

1.)Ahhhh, I remember my luxurious vacation in Cabo/Cancun/Puerto Vallarta/Mazatlan (or, back in the Love Boat days, Acapulco).
2.)Isn't everyone there getting murdered by drug cartels? 

Well, so far I have neither gone to a beach nor seen a drug killing, but I will be sure to keep you posted. Mexico is a large country with a lot going on, and it's good to remember that there are different parts of it. There is also soooooooo much to see and do that I am overwhelmed even trying to decide where and when and how to plan my excursions and journeys and overnight adventures.

I had a layover in Mexico City once as well as one in Monterrey, but I didn't get to do anything in either city, so my only real Mexico trips in the past have been in the northern border cities. This time, I am in the central/south central part and am ready to explore.

What's your favorite thing to do in Mexico? Besides eat, duh. I have been doing plenty of that, don't you worry. 

What's your splurge?

I read an interesting article in today's Arizona Republic (yes, the actual newspaper! I like newspapers!) about "Strategic Splurges." It discussed the things people still allow themselves to buy during these years of cutting back. For example, one person still takes vacations but now takes smaller trips instead of $4,000 luxury tours, and another spoke about the "essentials" of makeup and quality running shoes.

It is interesting to think about our strategic splurges. I have never been rolling in the dough, but as I make my way through the world over the years I have definitely thought about this concept of being willing to regularly spend a few dollars on things that others eliminate from their budget, while easily doing without things that other people see as essential. I suppose my strategic splurges have always been burritos, coffee, and movies (in the theater). I know there are so many people who can look me in the eye and say "I haven't seen a movie in the theater for a year!" I am not those people. I regularly go to the movies, and even in my direst (retail working) straits, the movie theater was where the entertainment budget went. You just had to be smart and go to matinee shows, and be an AMC MovieWatcher with free popcorn Wednesdays and rewards points.

I absolutely love to go out for caffeine, and I hit up coffee shops in every city (and every different country) I live in. It's delightful to return to the old faves (Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts, Caribou, Biggby) where you know what to expect and get what you love, but it's also fun to become a regular at the indie coffee shop down the street, such as Champion Coffee in Brooklyn, the Loose Leaf Lounge in Chicago, Rosebud in Andong or Gallery Cafe in Phuket. As for burritos, I've organized my food for the last decade or two such that take-out Mexican food is on the menu every week (except when I live in Korea, where I'd take a monthly trip to Seoul to get Mexican eats). People (you might say "busybodies") have often criticized me for eating out a lot even though it's low-priced. I don't think I spend more on food than the people who buy tons of stuff at the grocery store. I have never bought tons of stuff at the grocery store. (And  no, I never go to McDonald's; I'm more of a Chipotle kind of girl.) I don't stock a full pantry or buy snacks to have around the house. I don't buy meat or many dairy products (I prefer soy milk for my health, the animals', and the environment's.) You might be surprised how the food budget all evens out. 

My expendable items have always been TV/cable and new clothes. I only pay for those things when I have extra; otherwise, I go without for years. (I also am generally not motivated to go clothes shopping, but that's another story.) More recently, you might say a smart phone and data plan are my expendables, although is it really expendable if you never even bother to include it in your budget in the first place?  I am so OK with being the last person I know to get a smart phone. I don't see myself doing so until the phone is free and my data/talk/messaging plan is less than $40-50/month, total.

The Arizona Republic's piece actually restored my faith in humanity with its lists of the top 10 untouchable budget items and the top 10 expendable items. The "untouchables" were things like cell phone service, cable TV, haircuts, etc. You could go without those things for two or three years, but clearly not many people choose to do so. The number one expendable item? Luxury handbags! Thank !@$% goodness! I have often been heard to rant about the mind-boggling concept of spending $600 on a purse. I just absolutely do not understand it -- even when there's not a recession and we're not all living in an economic wasteland. There is no bag in the world that could possibly be of more value to me than a plane ticket. I also don't really think Coach or Louis Vuitton bags look any better/different than other bags on display at the mall. The whole thing baffles me, so I'm glad to read that people at least have a little bit of sense to realize how expendable that item is in the budget.

What about you? What are your strategic splurges?

I've got Seoul (but I'm not a soldier)

Who said life is a journey, not a destination? S/he was right.

Careful readers will note that here in southern Korea I have been craving Mexican food as I have never craved it before. I can't even pinpoint what I dislike about Korean food, besides the utter lack of vegetarian options outside the Buddhist temples. But it just is not my cup of tea (pun both intended and overused at this point).

I am desperate. I beg the gods of cheese fries and enchiladas to rescue me from where I lie prostrate atop a sea of clams and squid in my tofu. I want to rid my life of wet noodles and smoky flavors in my rice. I yearn for an orange that is just an orange and not a tangerine or some citrus hybrid. I decided that once payday came I would go to Seoul and seek out the Mexican restaurant I'd read about. I thought I may even allow myself to go to Seoul once a month this year. Of course, I wanted to tour the city properly, since all I'd done was pass through on the bus from Incheon airport to the train station in a jet-lagged daze. But if I am honest with myself, I will admit that Mi Casa Loca was a huge draw, a motivation to make the trip this month rather than next month, a mouth-watering fantasy, mounds of chips and luscious salsa that beckoned, my Shangri-la.

I considered catching the Seoul train, hitting the restaurant for an early dinner, and returning to Daegu that night. But even I could see that was pathetic. I should see some sights while there. My roommate, who knows full well that I like to adventure but also that I had one thing in mind for this particular trip, gave me a knowing look and said, "Have a good time!" as I left the house Saturday morning.

I capitulated at the Daegu train station and called the (highly recommended by Lonely Planet) Seoul Backpackers Guesthouse to reserve one dorm bed for the night. At least, it was kind of like making a reservation. I didn't have to give a credit card number. Nor did they ask my last name, although that's not unusual here. Even on my newly issued Korean health insurance card, only my first name appears. We foreigners have such long and, presumably, strange names that they don't even bother with the last name. But I digress.

On the way to Seoul I flipped through good ol' Lonely Planet and pieced together my maps. Unlike my previous weekend adventures, I was headed for a massive city, and the subway map looked more like a map of L.A.'s freeways. But when I arrived, Seoul Station felt so familiar. I remembered how awestruck and just plain fried I had felt there a month ago. This time, I was a.)reasonably awake b.)prepared to see what there was to see.

And I'll tell you what, that city reached out and grabbed me and sent a shock of delight through my being.

It's wonderful! It's big. It's thriving. It's full of life. It is almost like Manhattan: energy that just pushes up into you the moment you step from the train station onto the sidewalk. There are people everywhere. There are huge markets with hundreds, thousands, of things for sale. There is a river -- a real, wide river that is glorious in the nighttime city lights. There is an easy-to-navigate subway system with a slew of criss-crossing lines. There are about five million coffee shops. I actually stopped counting Starbucks, The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (!), Tom n Tom's Coffee, you name it.

The first thing I stopped to gaze at was Namdaemun, the Great South Gate, the largest of the gates from the city wall that once fortified the place. It still stands, with its sloping roof and walls painted beautiful telltale Korean teal-maroon-blue-red. It's on a kind of median at a gigantic intersection, and I stood next to its base waiting to cross the street. Old meets new.

I knew in an instant that I loved this city. I only felt bad I had waited five weeks to discover that fact. I'm sorry, Seoul. I wasn't myself when we first met. I was - distracted. Edgy. Exhausted. I didn't know what I was doing. Can you forgive me?

I walked for about two hours, wending my way toward the hostel, looking at the buildings, the crowds, the North American businesses. People didn't stare at me on the street. I saw Westerners, often. Sometimes groups of them. I checked my progress on the map and took a quick left to catch the main boulevard I wanted, noting that I was about to pass the U.S. Embassy. That's interesting, I thought.

I rounded the bend and there were suddenly cops everywhere. I mean, dozens and dozens and then more dozens of Korean police officers fanned out along the road, and the next road, and the long front of the building as well, wielding their riot clubs. It was unnerving. I had no idea what was happening. They weren't doing anything in particular, just standing, guarding. There were so many that they couldn't possibly be there all the time, even in the so-called "post-9/11" era. I didn't know what special event they were there for and was thinking who knew, maybe Bush had dropped in to see if there were any good wars to be started. Only later did I find out the W was indeed headed this way, and that there was a huge demonstration the next day against him -- which I saw people gathering for on my Sunday walk! By the way, I had the good sense not to get in the thick of it. Until I can make my sentiments clear in Korean, I best stay away from hostile crowds, methinks.

So maybe these were protest-anticipating police. I kept thinking I should go back the way I came, but I saw occasional Korean citizens walking this sidewalk, blissfully unconcerned about hundreds of policemen, so I followed their lead. Clutching a backpack strap in one hand and my water bottle in the other, I tried to pass as quickly and nonchalantly as possible, succeeding at the former but definitely not the latter. I kept hearing in my head Colonel Mustard in Clue, "I'm only a guest!" as the FBI run by him, other things on their mind while he worries he'll be arrested or shot.

Oh, and then there would just be a random huge 15th century palace and mountaintops peeking up behind it.

Seoul Backpackers was absolutely the best hostel-type place I've ever stayed in. A shared room, but get this: bathrooms in the rooms, not down a hall or two! Clean, free Internet, and English-speaking staff. It was great and I highly recommend it to anyone travelling to Seoul. It was very close to the subway and to Insadong-gil, a street of art galleries, crafts, more coffee, and all kinds of funky stuff to enjoy. I talked to a few of the Euros staying there, and it was odd talking to travellers after so many weeks of only Koreans and bitter foreigners teaching English. Travellers are so -- I don't know -- zen. Living in the moment. I reveled.

But I had not abandoned my pursuit.

Seoul's subway system is huge but user-friendly and signed in English, too. My directions, copied from the Internet, said when I exited the subway to turn left to go down the hill, take a left, and Mi Casa Loca would be just past Bennigan's on the right. But the subway stairs put you on the sidewalk so that turning left would be stepping into the road. I looked one way, then the other, and frankly both ways sloped down. Hmmm. I made a guess, but a few blocks later knew I had guessed wrong. Should I double back? One cab pulled over and I asked, "Apgujeong Bennigan's?" Nothing. He seemed annoyed. I tried the next one. "Bennigan's? Casa Loca?" I wanted to cry. It was nearing 8 o 'clock. SO help me, if I got there and it was closed....and then what to my wondering ears should appear but English. The cab driver fully spoke and understood English.

Furthermore, he got on his cell phone, called information, found Bennigan's, got directions, and drove me to the little restaurant row. Yikes, was I even still on planet Earth? I thanked him and then had to stop and collect myself and breathe deeply on the sidewalk in front of Mi Casa Loca for a moment before going in.

And it wasn't even all Westerners, OK? There were Korean families, Korean couples. But when that basket of chips and plate with salsa, pico de gallo, and jalapenos were placed in front of me I absolutely melted. I savored them as well as a veggie burrito, full of rice and goodness, veggies and pinto beans on the side, and for the icing on the cake, they had Coke! As in, Coca-Cola! Pepsi is everywhere in this country, but Mi Casa Loca saw fit to have the real thing, that's right! At the end I signed up for their frequent diner V.I.P. card. Why not? I will so be going back there.

Back in the glowing city, I found a bar called Old Man with "live music, rock & folk." Sounds perfect. There weren't a lot of people in there, and it was way expensive, so I just chilled out for one beer in the cozy, wood-paneled darkness. The three staff members were incredibly nice to me in spite of our language barrier. The main thing happening was a big birthday party consisting of a bunch of twentysomething ladies, and I guess they liked me because they even gave me a piece of the birthday cake. Around midnight I returned to the hostel and chatted with some travelers downstairs before crawling into my (surprisingly comfortable) bunk.

I had such a lovely Sunday morning in my new favorite Korean city. A hot shower (I think I might prefer living in that hostel to my Daegu apartment! we had hot water issues again this week, of course...) was followed by free breakfast with other travelers. Now that I'd been-there-done-that with the Casa Loca pilgrimage, I had a new quest: randomly on Saturday night I had heard that a relic purported to be a bone from the hand of the Buddha, normally kept in a museum in China, had just this weekend arrived in Seoul.

What a strange confluence of events! But where in Seoul? Some of my fellow travelers at Seoul Backpackers had also heard of the traveling Buddha digit but no one knew quite where it was, so I had to poke around the Internet a bit. Turns out that after the arrival ceremony at Jogyesa Temple it had gone to be exhibited at the fencing stadium in Olympic Park. Well, I had been kicking around the idea of going to see Olympic Park anyway, but this clinched it.

I spent the morning doing a little more Insagong-gil artsy-crafty wandering and visiting Tapgol Park, the site where protesters gathered to declare Korea's independence in the face of Japanese rule in 1919. The Proclamation of Korean Independence is etched in two large stones, in Korean and in English, in the park. I stood there reading every word. The gray sky, Sunday morning strollers, and fluttering golden-brown leaves were the perfect backdrop for my moment of contemplation.

Two young teenage girls stopped me to interview me for a project for their English class. I got to answer questions like, "Why are you in Korea?" and "What is your favorite Korean food?" and, my personal favorite, "What should Koreans do to improve?" I was tape recorded, and she made notes in her notebook and took my picture. It may sound odd, but they were seriously charming little sprites. I'm sure the teacher required proof they had spoken to real people. And everyone from about age five and up here has a digital camera, either on their cell phone or otherwise.

Then I sat in a Starbucks sipping cappuccino and reading the International Herald Tribune and thinking, "I could get used to this." Things were just so much more pleasant in Seoul. It was kind of nice not being stared at every five seconds, or frowned at. I thought how different an experience it must be for English teachers who land a gig in Seoul. Since returning to work I have discussed this notion with my co-workers and they have affirmed it.

"That's pretty much when we decided to go back instead of doing a second year here at Ding Ding Dang," the husband of the Canadian marrieds told me, "about three or four days after we went to Seoul." Another teacher said the previous married couple who were here went to Seoul every weekend. I'm telling you, it's addictive.

So, after gazing at more temples, the pavilion of the city bell forged in 1468, and gathering protesters, I took another long walk back through the central city to the Seoul Station area. I was in my contented reverie when I rounded the last bend. There was a man, likely homeless, lying on the street barefoot, his shoes kicked off near him. His head was toward the doorway he lay in, and I saw that his forehead was bleeding a little, like when someone in a movie gets hit over the head (perhaps with a candlestick). He was shaking and saying something which may or may not have been coherent, but the blood was not dried. I looked around for a person but was of course on the only empty street in Seoul, a little shortcut side road that comes down the hill behind a big luxury hotel toward the train station.

I approached the employee in the doorway of a mini-mart a storefront or two down. "I'm sorry, no hanguk," I said. I pointed to the homeless/wounded man, then motioned to my head and said, "Bleeding," having no idea if this worker understood me or not. He looked toward the man on the sidewalk. "I don't know," I tried again, "but blood - bleeding." I finally succeeded in getting him to come look, and he returned to his store and went toward a telephone. I was like, OK - um, thanks, bye. I felt pretty useless. Another woman walked by and looked at the man on the sidewalk in something like dismay or possibly disappointment. I like to think it wasn't disgust.

It was sobering and I had a subdued subway ride out to Olympic Park. Now, the park itself is a huge, gorgeous, sprawling affair, and under the gray blanket of sky I couldn't figure out which direction was east to orient myself on the map. So I wandered, initially following one crowd of people, but that turned out to be a gigantic youth rally of some sort being held in a different stadium. I kept walking, and then some parking lot employees took pity on me and offered assistance. "Ahh, fencing stadium," one said, followed by a string of Korean. I just asked him to show me where on the map I was, but he walked me across two parking lots and a small road until the stadium was in sight. So kind! I went around the weightlifting gym and approached the doors of the fencing stadium, not quite believing I would in a few minutes be able to gaze on this (alleged) Buddha bone!

For those skeptics among us, of which I am usually one, the backstory is that this bone was found in China in the Famen Temple in 1987. It is believed to have been there for 1000 years, undisturbed, since being enshrined by the Tang Dynasty, but they accidentally discovered an underground palace in the 1980s while doing some renovation.

At any rate, I wanted to see the display! I bought my ticket after the very helpful ticket sellers called over the one who spoke some English to help me. "Buddha bone display?" she asked. I nodded eagerly. I was supposed to fill out a form, but they decided my (first) name and birthdate were enough. I passed through a metal detector on my way into the stadium, and then was ushered into the main arena. On the floor there was a platform decorated in gold on which two monks stood watch over the sarira -- the gold, jeweled case that holds the bone. Other monks stood below the platform in front of rows of chairs, one chanting and one with drum and bells. Many believers were gathered praying and bowing on their mats. There were candles, incense, lanterns, bright and swirling colors and song. Yet the whole thing was quiet, and the atmosphere was heavy with holiness.

I'm rather glad I went at the end of the day; it was not crowded, and I had only a moment to pause, in fact, behind the stanchion and velvet rope before it was my turn. A woman bowed to us and motioned us up the steps to the platform in groups of four. And then I stood there, facing the relic. The spot we were allowed to stand on was a couple feet away, so you had to kind of peer through the side opening of the gold canister-like container at the small rounded cylinder containing the bone. A minute later, I was moved on, and I tried to be very polite and bow as I left. The whole thing reminded me a bit of when I had my moment of face-time with His Holiness the Dalai Lama in Los Angeles: also in a sports arena, also with a whole lot of build-up, and then it was all over so quickly as he said hello and then went about his business of spreading peace.

Those of us opting out of the praying and prostrating continued to the outer hall of the stadium where other artifacts from the Chinese museum were exhibited, including Buddha statues, tools, and gold objects, all quite old. Not a word of anything was in English so I can't tell you exactly how old or what purposes the objects served (there were some strange-shaped tools!) but there were some obvious things like jugs and bowls and everything was so beautiful!

I was very satisfied with my Seoul experience. Even the throngs of screaming twelve-year-olds that packed the Olympic Park subway station like sardines departing their youth rally could not shake me. I can't believe how many buddhist things I get to see all the time by just being in this country!

I took the bus home to Daegu, and my seatmate was a man from Ulsan, a city about an hour from here. (What isn't "about an hour" from Daegu at this point, besides Seoul? I feel so well-positioned for galavanting about south central Korea.) He spoke some English (along with some Vietnamese and some Arabic, I might add) and he is a photographer. He showed me a brochure of some of his photographs, and they were stunning. Well, they are being displayed in a big gallery opening this weekend in Ulsan. It's him and a few other photographers.

How very intriguing and off the beaten path that sounded to me. I whipped out the Lonely Planet and to my surprise there was nothing on Ulsan! It's a reasonably significant industrial city on the east coast, north of Pusan, from what I gather, but the fact that Lonely Planet has nothing at all written about it means it is beyond "off the beaten path." They delight in finding obscure things of interest to travelers. I became worried that if I went to Ulsan I would truly be at the end of the earth with no resources. My new friend drew me a map showing how to get from the Ulsan bus station to the gallery, and he swears there's an information kiosk near City Hall. I'm so blown away by there being no mention in the L Planet. They say something about everything, even if it's just "hikers pass through here on the way to such-and-such." Oh well, this man was really nice, so maybe I'll give it a go. He has a daughter my age who teaches middle school English! I want her to be my new friend!

It always astonishes me how a new place really feels like home the first time you return to it after traveling. I didn't think I would actually feel that "coming home" feeling to Daegu, but I did. When I finally emerged from my subway stop, tired but fulfilled, and headed toward my sketchy little Bongdoekdong street and apartment, I felt I was really walking home. Too bad we're moving -- again -- the weekend of Nov 26-27. (Hey, that's Thanksgiving weekend, isn't it? I'm really out of touch with the "holiday season," here, folks!)

But never fear, Seoul. I won't stay away long.