Ohio

I miss Ohio.

So here’s the playlist:

1. “Bloodbuzz Ohio” by The National

2. “To Ohio” by The Low Anthem

3. “Look at Miss Ohio” by Gillian Welch

4. “Ohio” by Over the Rhine

5. “Ohio” by Neil Young

6. “Ohio” by Damien Jurado and wonderfully creepified by Coco Rosie

7. “Ohio” by The Black Keys

8. “Ohio” by Modest Mouse

9. “Carry Me, Ohio” by Sun Kil Moon

10. “Ohio Rive Boat Song” by Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy

11. “On the Banks of the Ohio” by the Monroe Brothers covered by Johnny Cash

12. “Youngstown” by Bruce Springsteen

Love,
Katherine

Our trip to the DMZ: deceiving dioramas and the barenaked ladies

Greetings,

Since my last post we’ve had to deal with the departure of our good friend Robb. He stayed with us in Busan for almost a month, although it seemed like less than a week. Hosting someone who was unfamiliar with the culture and the environment really brought a much needed freshness to our daily schedule. We’re sad he’s gone, but excited for the opportunities that await him back home.

Seeing as Robb’s visit was very recent, I thought I’d dedicate this entry to the trip we took with him and our friend Jason to the Demilitarized Zone. The trip had been on Katherine and my “to do” list since we arrived in October, but it was Robb’s temporary sojourn that motivated us to finally make it happen.

The Demilitarized Zone in Korea is a unique place. There, at the 38^th parallel on the Korean peninsula, you can stand in between two remarkably powerful countries that have been at war with one another for nearly 60 years, and feel relatively safe. In fact, some people have felt so at ease with the stalemate that they have built and opened amusement parks and tourist attractions along the DMZ’s perimeter. Despite the recent rise in tension between the two Koreas, the DMZ now feels more like a tourist trap than the frontline of an ongoing war. The unnatural light-heartedness that has been brought to such a severe situation made our visit to the DMZ memorable, to say the least.

There are multiple tour companies which run monthly - if not weekly - trips to the DMZ. We chose Adventure Korea, a reputable industry in the ex-pat community. We met our bus in front of a shopping complex at 9:00 on a Sunday morning, and before we knew it we were heading north, into hotly contested real estate. The ride up was fairly bizarre. We met our tour guide, a mid-twenties Ohioan girl who looked like she was dressed to rock out at a Green Day concert. Fittingly, she blasted an odd assortment of 90s alternative music on the bus’s archaic speakers the whole ride up. Here we were, driving past sullen military outposts while being serenaded by Steven Page’s rendition of “It’s the end of the world as we know it.”

Our first stop was at a town located just outside the DMZ. The settlement’s claim to fame was a bridge that ran through its outskirts and into North Korea. Apparently this bridge had been used as a conduit through which prisoner exchanges took place. Equally as intriguing to the tourists was a small shop on the main road that sold North Korean currency. Acting against my cynicism towards these kinds of cliché touristy things, and despite being heckled by Kat for the same reasons, I purchased a couple paper bills and coins. They could very well be counterfeit, but how could I pass up the opportunity? Before boarding the bus my eyes were drawn to the presence of two statues of North and South Korean patrol guards. The thing that made these statues distinct from other memorial related sculptures was that they were made to look like anime-style children’s toys. The fact that such a serious symbol of national division was made into a sweet looking figurine reinforced our stereotype of Korea as a place that will inevitably cute-sify everything within its grasp.

From the bridge-town we made our way to a traditional Korean restaurant, where we enjoyed a simple meal of rice, seasoned vegetables, and some kind of fish. Nearby was another convenience store that sold the items every tourist to the area absolutely needs to purchase: DMZ t-shirts, key chains, and North Korean soju (rice liquor). The latter was a particularly popular purchase with the droves of foreigners cycling through the store. Having my North Korean currency in hand, I decided to opt out of any further, potentially regretful, purchases.

The tour’s next stop was at the infamous 3^rd tunnel. The underground passageway was first discovered by South Koreans in the late 1970s. As we were told on the tour, it is estimated that the North could have sent 300,000 armed troops through this tunnel within an hour. We were also informed that this number of N.K. troops could have breached Seoul’s limits within an hour of their entrance into South Korea, but for several logical reasons related to transportation, this doesn’t seem plausible. Actually, this was not only incident during the tour where we were forced to question the legitimacy of the facts being told. On quite a few occasions, we looked at each other with expressions of puzzlement after listening to claims pertaining to the war, and current North-South relations. It was a cultural experience in the sense that we had to filter out what was most likely South Korean propaganda. Nevertheless, we braved the damp, dark tunnel while fashioning our bright yellow hard hats. At the very end of the tunnel there was a small rectangular hole cut into the earth, and through it we could see the tunnel’s extension into a dark abyss.

The small museum that stood beside the tunnel was perhaps the most peculiar aspect of the entire tour. Before seeing the actual museum, we sat in a small amphitheater and watched a documentary. After briefly explaining the Korean War and its armistice, the film suddenly changed thematic direction. One minute we were staring at real footage of a baby crying, sitting next to its slain mother, and the next we’re confronted with cheerful music and an eagle soaring above a heavily wooded area. Much to our surprise, the second half of the documentary focused on the DMZ as being a haven for nature and its wonderful beauty. It was a little disorienting. Combine our state of disbelief with idyllic shots of animals in nature and a very poorly scripted monologue narrated by a Korean version of Robert Goulet, and you’ve got thirty foreigners trying not to laugh at what is supposed to be a sobering experience.

The museum itself wasn’t much better. Beneath the glass floor of the main area was a diorama of the DMZ as natural wonder. Massive squirrels and birds clung to plastic trees and monster goats stood on painted green grass. The oversized model animals on display supplied the material for a number of whispered jokes among the visitors, one of them being: “I’d be more afraid of that pigeon than a North Korean attack.”

The trip ended with a stop at one of the best observatories for peering onto North Korean soil. We paid the equivalent of 20 cents to look through binoculars into the secluded state. The weather was fairly hazy, so we could barely make out the outline of a few buildings within North Korea’s second largest city. What we could see with decent clarity was a military outpost facing the South Korean border. A massive North Korean flag flew from the main building. Luckily, we were even able to spot a lone North Korean soldier, patrolling his outpost. I felt a bit like I was on a safari, catching a fortuitous glimpse of some rare and elusive species.

We had taken a glimpse inside arguably the most secretive society in the world, and yet, we didn’t feel as if we had taken part in something clandestine, or even remotely exclusive. The Demilitarized Zone was interesting, but the commercialization, and subsequent desensitization, of its existence left something to be desired. We boarded the big blue bus and headed for Seoul, all the while being engrossed by Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl.”

The Korean Sauna: Leaving your clothes at the door

Warm salutations to you and your loved ones,

As you may or may not have noticed, we took a brief hiatus from the blogosphere, but now our fingers are rested, ready, and eager to type. By far the biggest occurrence since our last post was the arrival of our good friend Robb Kiley to Busan. In a fashion that is quintessentially Robb-esque, he listened to the pangs of his ever-searching spirit and spontaneously decided to book a ticket to our neck of the woods. It’s been great to have the guy around. He may even be staying here for a much longer period of time, considering a 5 month teaching contract is his for the taking.

As promised at the end of the previous post, I have decided to dedicate this entry to a subject which demands thorough description and cultural examination: the Korean sauna experience.

Despite exposing the human body to never-before seen lengths in fashion and media, public nudity is still taboo in North American society. Sure, we appreciate the seldom thrill of a streaker attempting to cross a buzzing stadium, or the shock of a sudden skin-filled glimpse in a comedic sketch or film, but our society stands in stark opposition to other cultures’ attitudes towards nakedness.

If I were to guess why this naked-oriented discomfort is so prevalent in the West, I would say that it is because of our ironic and simplistic perception of the human body. As silly as it sounds, we Westerners find our natural state to look abnormal, strange, and subsequently, in need of being covered up. Another obvious factor is our culture’s obsession with sex. Sadly, there is a very limited existence of celebrated “nakedness” in North America. For the most part, “nakedness” is automatically (or subconsciously) sexualized and perverted to become “nudity.” Natural beauty is not accepted as it is; instead, it is morphed and twisted to become something pornographic.

Of course, I’m not calling for all North Americans to burn their clothes and become part of one massive, cultural mosaic of nakedness; I’m merely intrigued by our society’s less-than comfortable acceptance of the human body in its most natural state. Usually my mind wouldn’t entertain such an obscure and largely irrelevant thought, but my recent visits to the Korean sauna have made this cultural characteristic a specimen worth decoding.

But here it goes, the Korean sauna:
Entering a Korean sauna for the first time feels like a strange, slightly frightening dream. After removing all clothing articles in a spacious locker room, you ascend the stairway to emerge within a voluminous atrium…

The first (and not the last) thing that surprised me was the fact that the entire room was being lit by natural light. I had preconceived the building to be dimly lit and quiet, but in reality it was as bright and loud as a shopping mall on Saturday. There were no shadows to hide in, no dark water to sink below. Vulnerability was no longer part of the equation, as the possibility of being completely exposed had already been brought to fruition.

And so, my friend Kevin and I were left standing, naked, in a massive room full of hundreds of Korean males. Don’t dismiss “hundreds” as literary exaggeration, there WERE literally hundreds of naked bodies swimming, sitting, standing, and walking. Again, the metaphor of a less consumerist and more visually shocking shopping center comes to mind.

Once acclimatized to the sheer number of bodies in the vicinity, Kevin and I decided to test the waters that lay before us. Naturally we drifted towards the biggest and closest of the pools, a shallow waterhole with concrete, water-spouting turtles decorating its center. Despite seeming to do that which everyone else was doing, we still felt a little like fish out of water, or nuns at a rave.

To heighten the level of awkwardness, Kevin and I were the only foreigners in the building. I also forgot to mention an important detail that will help you getting a fuller (hopefully not too clear) picture of the situation. Kevin happens to be a muscular black man. Whatever amount of stares I was receiving from the homogenous hordes of Koreans must have been doubled or tripled on his end. The most obvious moment of our co-bathers fascination with us occurred when a little boy swam up to Kevin, pointed at him, laughed, and swam away. Thankfully, Kevin, being the calm, cool, and collected dude that he is, saw this incident as more comedic than anything else.

In case you’re uninformed and/or curious about what exactly is inside a Korean sauna, let me explain. The Korean sauna presents a smorgasbord of bathing pools for your cleansing pleasure. You can pick and choose whatever pools appeal to the experience you’re searching for. Maybe you spend a little time in the ginseng pool and then decide to switch it up with a short stint in the “Champagne” pool. Or maybe, you’re feeling in an intellectual mood, so you decide to let the waters of the “Philosopher’s pool” extract your undeveloped thoughts. If you’re really feeling adventurous, you can pool-hop from one to the next, making a complete circular rotation around the building’s premises. My personal favorites are the pools located in a closed off area outside.

All in all, the Korean sauna experience is eye-opening. Not only will you find yourself physically opening your eyes in shock, but your mind’s eye will also be opened to a completely different cultural view of nakedness. In the sauna, all is stripped away, and the only thing that is left is bare, unabashed reality. Men of all sizes, shapes, and ages share this experience, immune to the self-conscious musings that so many Westerners would face in such a situation. In the sauna, teenagers, sit next to their fathers and grandfathers, discussing the latest happenings, all the while participating in a familial act that has spanned generations. In the sauna, one feels liberated to simply be, well, naked.

The Middle Way

Over our relatively short time here in the Far East, Katherine and I have become quite enamored with the Buddhist aspect of Korean culture. As we often yearn for an escape from the blur of metropolitan life, we usually find ourselves hiking in the surrounding mountains, and inadvertently visiting the many temples that are found therein.

Fittingly, our past break (for the Lunar New Year celebration) unintentionally took on a traditional Korean/Buddhist vibe. The biggest event of the break was visiting the capital city of the ancient Korean kingdom with our good friend Jason Bongiovanni. We were fortunate enough to find a cheaply priced room at Gyeongju’s unfortunately named “Kolon Hotel.” When we weren’t cracking jokes about our hotel providing complimentary colonoscopies, we were viewing the many ancient cultural sites that Gyeongju has to offer. Hands down, our favorite site was Bulguksa temple, located just a ten minute hike from our hotel. Bulguksa surpassed Beomeosa at the top of our favorite Korean temples list. Perhaps it was the lack of obnoxious tourist groups, or the way the sinking orange sun’s light complimented the mustard yellow paint on the buildings, or maybe it was the weather’s signaling of the approaching spring- whatever it was, this temple rose beyond the others we had visited. If there ever were a more stark juxtaposition, we left the beautiful, majestic space and returned to the “Kolon” hotel to spend the night eating junk food and watching Rob Schneider movies on Korean television. At the very least, Jason and I soaked in the soothing waters of our hotel’s sauna room before calling it a night.

The next day we jumped on a bus that snaked its way up the mountain’s steep edge to the very top. Hidden in a forest on top of the mountain is Seokguram Grotto, a hermitage which is a part of Bulguksa temple. The hermitage houses a massive granite Buddha. The structure was impressive, and so was the view from its mountainous position. Before heading back down to the village we couldn’t avoid paying 1,000 won to ring a massive, ornate, metal bell with a swinging log. We finished our Gyeongju trip with a quick walk around the many burial mounds which dot the town’s landscape. The mounds, much like the effigy mounds built by Native Americans, were impressive in stature, but once you’ve seen one mound of earth and grass, you’ve really seen them all.

The other traditional Korean/Buddhist themed occurrence over break happened on Sunday, when Jason and I laced up hiking boots and tackled a nearby mountain trail. After visiting a temple that overlooks our neighborhood, we slowly made our way down the mountainside. While walking through a bamboo forest we stumbled upon what seemed to be a temple. At first we didn’t know whether we were trespassing in someone’s backyard, so we were a bit taken aback when a man approached us and started talking in Korean. He quickly realized our low competency in Korean and called over an English speaking friend. The English speaking man introduced himself as Mr. Park. He told us how he volunteers his time assisting with the site’s maintenance on the weekend. During the week he serves as a “researcher.” When I asked what type of research he was involved in, he shortly replied, “The military.” Being the curious foreigner that I am, I pried a little further, “What type of research for the military?” He answered, “New submarines and things like that.” “Oh, so top secret things?” I laughed. “Yes,” he said, with no emotion. Following our slightly awkward introductions, Mr. Park was nice enough to guide us around the temple grounds and answer some of our questions concerning Buddhist symbolism and architecture. Much to our delight, we were even welcomed into the temple itself and explained the meaning of the murals covering the inner walls. For whatever reason, our personal faith was brought up in the conversation, which subsequently led to Mr. Park explaining one Buddhist theory positing that Jesus spent his adolescent years as a Budhhist monk in India, before returning to Israel to be crucified. He also mentioned that one of the Buddhist sacred texts shares many thematic ideas with the Old Testament.

On our way out of the temple’s garden, I noticed a large metal bell hanging beneath a pavilion. I haphazardly told Mr. Park of our recent Gyeongju excursion, and how we had paid 1,000 won to ring a bell that resembled the one in front of us. Mr. Park’s expression changed from one of interest to disbelief. “You rang the bell?!” he exclaimed. I made sure to explain that we hadn’t rung the bell without permission. He was still shocked, and somewhat appalled. Sensing our confusion, he proceeded to explain how traditionally, only monks were allowed to ring such bells. Moreover, the bell’s ring is believed to possess great power. On the thirty-third ring of the bell, the heavens are said to open up, momentarily dissolving the physical barrier that exists between the two realms. Hearing this for the first time, Jason and I instantly were filled with a sense of guilt. We had participated in a cheap act of cultural and religious desecration. We apologized, but Mr. Park was more saddened by his countrymen’s actions than ours.

On our walk back home, Jason and I discussed the bell incident. Having both spent many hours in intercultural studies classes, we reminisced about certain courses which focused on the very issue that we had unconsciously been a part of. It’s a dilemma which each culture faces- the one of change. It’s a tightrope act of balance between development, exposure, and maintaining a reverence for cultural heritage and belief. Seeing the disheartened look on Mr. Park’s face was a poignant reminder of how this balance is much more susceptible to ending in failure, rather than harmony.

Coming to a blog post near you: The Korean Sauna- Leaving the Clothes at the Door.

Seoul

Last weekend we packed our bags and headed north to Seoul. We felt it was time to escape the greater city limits of Busan and experience another side of Korea, the side that over 10 million people experience every day.

Wanting to make the most of our weekend excursion, we caught a train at 7:30 on Saturday morning. We spoiled ourselves and rode the KTX, which is supposedly one of the fastest trains in Asia. Although the trip took 2.5 hours, it might as well be considered light-speed when compared to the rest of the trains that travel the same route in 5-6 hours.

It was nice to ride the rails in the daylight, and see the Korean countryside for the first time. It’s surprising how mountainous this country’s terrain is. While passing the rolling hills we couldn’t help but think of how surprisingly accurate M*A*S*H was with its portrayal of the Korean landscape. It was easy to imagine a helicopter descending between the mountains, with the show’s opening credits scrolling down in the foreground. Of course, we then had the M*A*S*H theme song stuck in our heads for the duration of the weekend.

Soon after rolling into Seoul Station, we met up with our good friend Jason Bongiovanni. Like us, Jason is an alum of Houghton College. We’ve become quite close over the years as we both played on the same ultimate Frisbee team for four years and slept in the same tent in Tanzania for an entire semester. We’ve run alongside one another into crocodile inhabited waters, naked, in the pitch dark of East Africa. It’s fair to say we’ve been through a lot together.

Our first order of business was to visit the Seoul Museum of Art. Luck would have it that there was a temporary exhibit at the museum showcasing the works of Kat’s favorite painter, Marc Chagall. The long lines of elementary students discouraged us from seeing the show on Saturday, but we came back on Sunday and saw it then. I didn’t know much (or anything) about Chagall before getting to know Katherine, but having been exposed to his work and personal story, I’m now a fan. It was particularly interesting seeing his works after having recently read Chaim Potok’s book, “My Name is Asher Lev.”

Perhaps one of the most memorable moments of the weekend occurred when we visited Gyeongbok Palace, a historic cultural and architectural cornerstone of the city. We walked around the vast, open courtyards and examined the meticulous execution of each building’s meaningful layout. The only problem was, it was -26 Degrees Celsius with the wind-chill. -26! We nearly froze. Getting our fingers to perform the simple act of taking a picture was a strenuous task. The warm, wet breathe that escaped our mouths froze to our securely wrapped scarves. Inner thighs burned, and feet tingled with pain. But we saw one of Seoul’s greatest wonders, and in genuine Korean style.

Before relieving our aching bones and calling it a day, we walked around the neighborhood of Insa-dong near the temple. The area is known for its great selection of artsy galleries, tea houses, and unique restaurants. We found shelter in a cozy traditional Korean restaurant, and ate a fine sampling of various Korean dishes. After having braved the cold for far too long, we jumped on the train and made our way to Jason’s apartment in the outlying city of Incheon.

The next day, after enjoying a breakfast feast put on by the very hospitable Jason, we bundled up and faced the cold weather once again. We decided to do ourselves a favor and limit the agenda to things located inside. We visited the War Memorial, which also acts as the country’s War Museum. The overwhelming number of scurrying school children sort of detracted from the solemn feel of the place. Besides learning more about the Korean War, we discovered more about the long, blood-soaked history between Japan and Korea. I now know more clearly why Korean children are indoctrinated with a strong dislike for their east-Asian counterparts.

Despite the bitter cold, it was an enjoyable trip to Korea’s capital. One of the biggest takeaways from the excursion was a renewed appreciation for Busan, the city we live in. Seoul is a neat place to visit, as it consists of an ongoing, uneasy relationship between the traditional and the modern. However, I’ll take living in Busan over Seoul any day. Busan is slower, smaller, warmer, and simply more beautiful than the mega-metropolis to the north. You can get to a pristine beach in under 30 minutes, or get to the base of one of the mountains that dot the city’s perimeter in less time. Busan has everything you need, yet it allows for the opportunities Seoul cannot offer. The verdict is in: we’re glad to be where we are.

From a few days ago...

Greetings again,
I’ve decided to undertake the writing of these following words without any certainty as to what will be said. If truth be told, I’ve been struggling to think of what to write for this blog entry. It’s not that Kat and I are devoid of things to say, or recent developments to share, it’s just that I feel empty on the inspiration front. The storm troops of apathy have broken through my barricades of ingenuity, and now threaten to capture the last remnants of creativity standing on guard. Although I lack a rhyme or reason, the raw desire to write trumps my presumption to leave the page blank.

I think my problem might have something to do with my surroundings.
Being an English teacher isn’t a bad gig, but recently it has dampened my passion for teaching, particularly in this context. Maybe it’s the rigid structure of the curriculum, or the need to push through a lesson regardless of whether or not the students are actually retaining what is being taught, or maybe it’s merely the daily grind of teaching class after class after class… Whatever it is, it’s left me feeling like a nearly finished bowl of soup, or a stale piece of bread.

Fortunately, this feeling was temporarily removed last Saturday, when Kat and I were able to get away from the buzz of the urban jungle and visit a local Buddhist temple. Nestled in between the mountains which surround Busan, Beomeosa temple is one of the most celebrated and visited temples in all of Korea. The term temple doesn’t do the site justice since it really is more of a complex of buildings rather than a single structure. Despite the harshness of the cold wind attacking our bodies, it was nice to walk along the cobblestone paths and simply absorb the beauty of each building’s unique architecture. Noticing that some visitors were removing their footwear and entering the main temple, I decided to follow suit. When I entered the sanctuary an older Korean women gave me a welcoming smile and handed me a small mat to sit on. The interior of the building was replete with vibrant murals and an ornately carved wooden altar. Men, women, and children bowed in worship. The mild aroma of incense lingered in the air.

Sometimes the smallest occurrences can have just the right effects. Our visit to Beomeosa was short, and not overly memorable, but it let me catch a refreshing breath of fresh air and perspective.

Soon to come: This past weekend’s Seoul expedition, with a guest appearance by the venerable Jason Bongiovanni.

Midnight Runs and Nori Bongs

Hello again from the sunny side of South Korea,

Just as the northern boundary waters continue to be the focal point of tumultuous foreign relations, so our hogwan has served as a volatile point of instability over the past couple of weeks. Within three days, our foreign teacher staff underwent a firing, a “midnight run,” and three contract completions. For all of you who are out of touch with “Overseas English Teacher Lingo,” the definition of a “midnight run” is as follows: when an employee leaves the country he/she is working in with a) no intention of coming back and b) no word of warning to the employer. I do not wish to discuss any of these events simply because I feel like too much of my time on this God-given earth is already spent on discussing/pondering/complaining about these job related things. However, I felt it necessary to contextualize this post by explaining the chaos that has been our young “professional” lives.

Sadly enough, it’s difficult to think of things that are not work related. Whether we like it or not, (and to be sure, we don’t) our lives are dominated by the logistics and drama of the workplace. There’s nothing more frustrating than going home frustrated after a frustrating day at work. The ability to leave work at work is an acrobatic act of genius that we have yet to become enlightened to. But as I said before, and have already failed at doing, let’s avoid grumblings of work.

For the most part, I feel like we have settled into Busan. Sometimes, especially in the morning, I sort of even feel like a local: I go to pick up a fresh loaf of bread at the bakery conveniently located downstairs, I pick up a colorful variety of produce at the grocery store across the street, and more often than not, I give a friendly head-nod to the security guard at the entrance of our building…It’s the small hints of familiarity that appease my occasional disdain for living somewhere completely and utterly foreign.

Perhaps the biggest cultural event that we have experienced in the past couple of weeks was the “professional” basketball game that we attended this past Sunday. We had the pleasure of attending the match with our good friends Kevin and Laura. While entering the stadium, we knew that if not for the competitive level of the game, we would, at the very least, be entertained by the game’s environment. Sure enough, the game wasn’t all that, and the environment was everything.

One of the most comical aspects of the Korean basketball league is that each team is only allowed two foreign players. What this ends up meaning is that each team consists of a platoon of 5 foot something Korean guys and two, massive black men. Further affirming the obvious truth that the foreign men are the best players on the court is the rule stipulating that only one foreigner can be on the court at a time. The offence at both ends of the court can be boiled down to: give the foreigner the ball and see what happens. Surpassing the entertainment value of the game itself is the cheerleading squad, with their clavicles appropriately covered and their choreography reminiscent of Brittney Spear’s “innocent” schoolgirl era. And of course, there’s the mascot. “Teletuby on crack” is really the only way to describe the creature that all-to-gleefully frolics around the sidelines. If all of this excitement wasn’t enough, throughout the game there also was a small man in a Santa coat leading the stadium in synchronized cheers.

Another noteworthy cultural experience was when our school staff went out on the town. After hitting up a local bar we decided it would be best to showcase our singing talents at one of the many Nori Bongs in the area. Widely known to the rest of the world as karaoke bars, the element of musical excellence in these singing rooms is taken to a whole new level on the Korean peninsula. Whereas we North Americans might view karaoke as a time to mock past and contemporary pop songs, South Koreans place noticeable importance on the execution and delivery of their favorite hits. To be sure, the Koreans have a good time in the nori bongs, but they also value a well sung song. Not to be arrogant, but I dazzled the crowd with a soulful rendition of Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas.” Kat gave Kanye West’s “Gold Digger” her best shot. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t enough.

Well, that is all for now. Let’s wrap this post up with a nice holiday bow.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!

Love and Peace this holiday season.

Mitch and Kat