“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving!”

I went to Seoul Main Church.  Almost didn’t eat because I hate walking into a big cafeteria (seems bigger when one’s alone) not knowing anyone and having to find where to sit.  Anyway, I went to sit at the back.  Two men saw me and motioned for me to sit with them.  The one with tiny bandages covering his pimples gave me his bowl of songpyeon (I like the ones with sesame seeds and honey).  “Where are you from?  Are you a missionary?  How long have you been here?”  I take some kimchi.  The one next to me looks surprised. 

When I’m almost finished, the brave one tells me that using chopsticks is very difficult.  Umm…I’m almost finished eating a bowl of noodles with them, so not difficult.  “They’re only used in China, Japan and Korea,” he continues.  Again, no.  You skipped a bunch of countries.  Besides a Vietnamese person taught me how to use them. 

Then the one next to me gets some courage and says “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving in Korea.”  The other one pipes up, “It is very important Korean holiday.”  Yes.  Thank you gentlemen.  I’ve been living in a vacuum for the last two months.  Had no idea.  That explains why I didn’t have to work yesterday!  Of course, I just smiled and nodded because they were only trying to be friendly and make conversation.  But why does every Korean have act as if I’m ignorant of the most basic facts about their country and culture?  Two days ago ‘Anna’ also explained to me that this weekend was Thanksgiving.  Chuseok is not exactly Thanksgiving (it’s a three-day harvest festival); but I won’t argue with them.  Now I know what the long-timers mean when they say they get tired of having the same conversations over and over. 

On the way back to Incheon a woman got on the train with a huge bag of some sort of cylindrical rice snacks.  I paid no attention to her and continued writing in my date book.  When the train was stopping, I felt something near my face and looked up to see her holding three big ones in my face.  I smiled and thanked her.  She smiled and got off the train.  Despite her bare hands, I bit into one.  The reddish one was quite good, but I couldn’t identify the flavor.  The white one tasted faintly of ginger.  I’ve already learned at school with the kids to not think too much about germs when they offer something to eat, but I didn’t expect to have to exercise that tactic on the train.  Mami would die! Heh!  Lo que no mata engorda. 

September 2012