Last night I was an imposter; a vegetarian eating small strips of beef, wrapping them in lettuce and garlic and pretending they were good. There was context for the deception, twelve of us sitting on cushions around a low table, three Korean woks sizzling in the center, suit coats hung in the corner. Small plates with slightly pickled cabbage, sliced garlic, a hot pepper paste, sesame oil, bowls of lettuce and sprouts, and a large plate of sliced beef with a chunk of beef fat for greasing and regreasing the skillet.
On the outer edge of the table, I hid my small bites in large leaves of green. The vice president didn’t notice, I’m sure. He was more concerned with keeping the small shot glasses of Soju filled for his guests. He spoke maybe four or five words of English and one of them was ‘Cheers!’ We smiled, drank, spoke and laughed.
Later, the director of the village sits next to me in a small chicken restaurant. A dish of duck meat steams on the table, surrounded by small dishes of kimchi, potatoes, sprouts and finger food for drinking. He’s younger than I am by about ten years, but he’s responsible for a English school that sees more than 22,000 students a year. And the project pays my salary as well. He looks at me, serious and then puts a hand on my shoulder.
‘In my country, we have a word for good friends. It means something like ‘friends for many lifetimes in the past;’ you are my innae.’
Today I’m riding my bike in Korea for exactly the second time. Rustin, a teacher at the English village, is my guide, fellow teacher and friend and we’re gliding past the long greenhouses filling the valley next to the village. On our way to the Yuksinsa shrine, about 10 miles from the school. The road is flat and smooth. Rustin points out reindeer penned on the right, raised for meat we’re assuming.
The wind is blowing and the air is moist, the sky slightly overcast. Cars and trucks are polite, waiting and moving over to pass. After experiencing traffic from a cab’s point of view my last two visits, traffic was my biggest fear, but on the small highway 177, it is not a problem and we tell anecdotes of past rides, talk of family and love and don’t talk much about school.
has been designated Treasure #554. The shrine marks the burial site of six officers who, along with their families, were killed for supporting King Danjong in 1455. One family member survived and his descendants live in a small village next to the shrine.
We walk up the stone stairs to the marble marker, six turtle heads sticking out at the base. The symbolism is lost on me, but it’s beautiful and unique. How many lifetimes have passed since theirs ended?
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