DMZ today.

Again.

And boy was it a disaster. Geez. All started well, but when we arrived at Camp "In Front Of Them All" Bonifas, we found out the USO had overbooked by double and there were too many people to go to the truce village at one time and so we would have to split into groups. Joy. And then for some insane reason, the dorks running the show (the same dorks defending freedom) decided to hold the tour while they waited for two other freedom-preserving dorks (military) who were on the tour but who didn’t make the bus and decided to drive themselves up. Last time I checked, you miss the bus, you don’t get to go. Forty-five minutes later a couple of Air Force guys rush in. Finally, ID’s were collected from everyone and half of us were shipped North. The North Koreans didn’t come out to play, though a couple were standing on a nearby roof messing with one of the cables to a video camera. They waved trying to get a reaction be we tourists had already had the fear-of-war put in us by those arrogant young JSA soldiers who told us not to point or stare at the enemy. So there. Docile we stood. Back South at the Visitor’s Center on Camp Bonifas and some soldier who is apparently high enough in aptitude that he can be trusted with JSA duty can’t read the names on all those ID’s piled into a little box so that we all stood around like cattle waiting anxiously for him to return each one. It took F-O-R-E-V-E-R. Hello! Inefficiency! Fraud, Waste, and Abuse! The two other times I’ve been to the DMZ no one ever so much as even requested that we get out any ID. Can’t believe they actually took it from us. Sheesh.

Anyway.

Back late, of course, and I find myself rushing around to get a cab to Toksugung area so we can buy our tickets for the show and then go chow on some tubuchongol. I’m really good in this country in a pinch these days, and getting downtown was a piece of cake. Dinner was awesome and so was that performance - again. Ohh, those men. When I see those samulnori guys in their costumes wacking away on their percussion instruments, twirling their heads, and throwing their bodies into the air…. Oooo.

Yesterday.

Our neighbor, Mr. Kim, introduced Bob to Kalbi (grilled pork) and soju. It was fun. Mr. Kim looked good and I’m so happy that he has a job in the midst of this whole economic mess over here. He tossed back three shots of soju without so much as a wince or a stagger just before leaving for work. I asked him if he still had the burnt pine drops.

Rest of the day was spent in markets.

Namdaemun: We saw pig heads on display, various slimy seafood, and tons of clothes and accessories. I always get hung up on the barrettes, stopping at each stall to see if there are a few I can’t live without.

Hanyak market: Smells so good. We stood outside the window of one of the little stores watching a pharmacist prepare a specialized mixture of herbs divided into white envelopes for daily consumption for a guy who waited patiently. The pharmacist smiled at us and Bob said, "You know if we didn’t have this language problem, you know the guy would just love to tell us everything he knows." And we would love to know. Mostly we just saw herbs, roots, stacks of centipedes, and shaved deer antlers. All the gooey stuff - the illegal stuff - is hidden well from view. Oh, but in an a market adjacent to the Hanyak one we saw a guy chopping up chickens. Of course, there are piles of the raw, bare carcasses all around him, out in the air and not on ice. The guy was standing before a big slice of tree which was his cutting board and which had been used so much that it began to take on a look more like that of a bowl. Chicken residue coated it, making it slippery and slightly pink. The guy would grab these carcasses and cut them into pieces in, like, two seconds, tossing all the parts into a plastic bag from which handfuls were scooped and weighed for sale.

Yum.