The Myth & The Majesty

 It's not the food that makes him nervous ... it's the chopsticks. Our weekend plans changed abruptly the moment Mia Sorella's alarm went off on Saturday morning. We'd been out a little too late the night before and our original plans -- which involved a four-hour bus ride -- held virtually no appeal. Instead, we slept for a few more hours and then hit the markets. Now, raise your hand if you've been to a market in any Asian country. It's something else, isn't it? There were two versions in Seoul that we checked out. One was the crowded street market we were expecting, and it was impressive. The second type was, in essence, the tallest, most crowded mall I've ever set foot in. Not necessarily people-crowded (we were there near closing) but absolutely packed with stuff for sale, all sold by enthusiastic women who spoke just enough English to sell us anything. Well, we didn't buy ginseng, but it looked cool... A...

There's something to be said for being a traveling minority. There aren't a lot of white folks in Seoul, and there are even fewer people over six feet tall. While that second part does not apply to me (in fact, I'm barely average height in Korea), Mr. Rogers frequently attracted wide-eyed stares for the simple fact that he towered over a large percentage of the population. Mia Sorella had warned us a little that people would stare, but she didn't immediately warn us of the other strange facet to being an American in Seoul: parents urge their children to talk to us.  [The candyman can...]  Yes, that's right. They're pushed to talk to strangers. Why? Because we speak English and those same kids are learning English.  The very first day, both of these -- the stares and the talking to strangers -- were proven to us several times. Our first order of business for the day was Insadong, an area moderately popular with foreigners. Here, we found...

Since landing back in Sioux Falls on Saturday (figuratively speaking, since I drove and Sophie doesn't catch as much air as the Flying Jeep did), I've felt remarkably ... normal. Jet lag has caught me before but this time I seem to have dodged a bullet. I'm sleeping normal hours (well, normal for me anyway) and haven't been randomly exhausted in the middle of the day. Which is good, because there's just a little too much to do this week. But that's not really what I wanted to tell you today. I have a story... I went shopping today ... or browsing, as there were no purchases ... and someone called me a hippie. Not in a fun way, not in a teasing way, but in a I-actually-think-you're-a-hippie-and-that-makes-me-uncomfortable kind of way. A complete stranger, no less. I'm still not sure what brought that on. We weren't talking politics (which probably wouldn't make me seem like a hippie anyway), we weren't discussing the latest in elect...

Twenty-some miles and the Gyeonggi Bay separate Seoul from Incheon International Airport. At high tide, the bay bustles with the usual activity -- fishing boats, barges, and all trimmings. At low tide, however, the bay becomes a vast, impassable march, mud as far as the eye can see. When we arrived in Seoul, this low tide predicament greeted us. It was admittedly not the prettiest greeting, but we weren't choosy. It had been a long day. Twenty hours before, we had made our way to Denver International Airport in the winter's second snowstorm. What should have been a half-hour drive quickly grew to seventy-five minutes, followed by a super-sized trip from the park and ride. By the time we settled into our seats to San Francisco, it was a relief to get out of Denver's snow-drenched scenery. The flight from San Francisco offered a view of Mount Saint Helens and Mount Rainier as we worked our way up the coast. Not long after, I dozed off, not waking until my very Korean s...

Across the surprisingly scenic Nebraska panhandle, just over the southern border, the intrepid traveler finds a strange and somewhat elusive prey. Colorado is the natural home of the rare regional specimen known simply as the rugged yuppie. Not quite a big-city hipster or a small-town redneck, the rugged yuppie is comfortable in both sparsely populated backcountry hiking grounds and a crowded nightclub. Frequently found in various forms of plaid, jeans, and boots (whether fashionable, functional, or Uggs), the rugged yuppie differs from hippies and granolas in large part because of the weather. While he may be found biking to work in the summer months, Denver winters require more capable vehicles and the rugged yuppie is not shy about his SUV. It was during dinner on Tuesday night -- dollar tacos at a moderately upscale basement cantina in downtown Denver -- that we had our first confirmed sighting of the rugged yuppie. We had driven down from ranch country, across...

"You should visit." "I know..." This short, somewhat frustrating conversation sidebar happened at least once during every Skype conversation I had with Mia Sorella for two years. I always had an excuse -- always lacked either time or money -- and nothing much came of it. Then this summer, I started throwing around November. "I could probably make it happen in November. We'll see how things look after this summer. November might work." Well, it was October and I still didn't have a plane ticket. Mia Sorella had pretty much given up on me. Then came a brief exchange with Mr. Rogers, who was getting restless in western South Dakota and wanted to hit the road for ... somewhere. Anywhere. Just a few days later, and only fifteen before takeoff, I had a plane ticket. There was a lot to be done in the meantime. What was supposed to be the calm before the storm kicked into a madcap flurry of activity; suddenly I had packing to do, things to gather to...

44-ish hours after leaving Seoul, I'm finally back in Sioux Falls. And wow, do I have a lot of stories for you. Groan all you want. The pictures are pretty cool. Anyway! Brace yourselves, all three of you.