12.00

After one night in a hostel—or guesthouse as they're called in Seoul—Mrs. Chung insisted we move to her apartment. She's nearly 60 years old, and being Korean means that even at her liberal best my American need to preserve independence felt a bit stifled. But we only traded some freedom for the comfort of middle-class accommodations—free accommodations—and the fortune to drink tea each night with one of the most knowledgeable tea students in the country. We traveled about during the day, and each night she was still awake and ready to brew nokch'a, through which poured our adventures. Each morning she woke early, having breakfast ready—our breakfast of cereal and toast, but urging us to eat eggs. On the last morning we did eat eggs to please her. We didn't tell her we rented a car to drive south into the countryside, instead letting her believe we'd taken the bus. She wanted to arrange for some of her friends to meet us at the station at Yusong, take us to the hot springs there and to a nearby temple. I told her we wanted to go alone and she understood. So we went, rebellious young women. Drove south in a weak little car, the acquisition of which took quite a bit of misunderstanding before the language cleared enough to make a deal. It was Sunday morning. Traffic was light but brisk. And we had a fun and comfortable drive to the city of Yusong, where we took baths with women who looked like us but who were Korean. Later we drove west into the hills to visit Makoksa, a beautiful temple tucked between mountains and alongside a vigorous stream, the calmer parts of which had given way to ice. The main building is very old and grandly two-storied. While we sat inside breathing incense, I passed the time observing how the support beams channel the weight of the massive tile roof into the side columns and into the ground. Very simply, yet exquisitely done. I wish I could describe it accurately, but I lack the language. We stopped for dulsot bibimbap at a country "garden" restaurant. Bought apples and Asian pears from a fruit vendor by the side of the road. At the very end, I drove Angela to the top of the hill where UN Village sits and where the hum of the night city jiggles with the lights across the river. Then back to Mrs. Chung and to tea, safe and sound. Our last night in Seoul Mrs. Chung brought out a gorgeous basin in the shape of a lotus leaf which was the centerpiece to brewing the earthy poich'a. We drank early into the morning before our flight, high on the caffeine and chatting like there was no tomorrow.

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