The Demilitarized Zone (DMZ)

Cold war, anyone? A week ago, we went to the ol' DMZ, the 2 kilometers of ecological splendor that lies between North and South Korea. It was pretty interesting. We went in the tunnels that the North Koreans dug into South Korea. (Of course, North Korea accuses South Korea of digging the tunnels into North Korea in a move of diplomatic deception on par with "I know what you are, but what am I?") Also, in the museum, there are many instances where, under "escalations in military tensions," it says things like "Secret agent penetrated in Pyeonyang." I think they meant "infiltrated." But I don't know if the Geneva convention applies here.
But, jokes aside, it was pretty harrowing to look in the telescopes at the North Korean houses, all grey, all identical, and all in clumps. (The picture to your left is about as good a picture as you're allowed to get of the North.) There was a North Korean flag at the top of a super tall flag pole on the propaganda center. It was also about 20 degrees, and there was a hardcore cold wind coming from (you guessed it) the North. It was pretty poignant.




After the Demilitarized Zone, we went to a train station that was built solely to help convince the North to reunify and open up travel between North and South Korea. Bush Jr. came here to make a speech, and they have a big monument to it in the station. The station is quiet, and there was snow over the tracks. Oh so poignant, yet again. But maybe someday they'll be used.

Buddhist Temple Stay

We went to a Buddhist Temple a few weeks ago for a night along with a group of other foreigners to see what the lifestyle of Buddhist monks is really about. We arrived in the afternoon, late, which was kind of embarrassing. But the bus system in Korea sucks. Buddha forgave us, so let's move on.
We did a meditation session right at first. (that is, after I got changed into my hot leotard and Aladdin/M.C. Hammer initiate pants. Dig the pic) I had hardcore dry mouth, so I kept gulping and my insides sounded like they were scraping against themselves. I was definitely keeping everyone from achieving enlightenment with my gurgling. I even got Carly, sitting on the meditation pillow next to me, doing it. You'd be amazed how self-conscious you can get in a room full of twenty people sitting silently for a half an hour.


After that, we went to the temple and did some chanting. There was this Ukrainian woman who would come to the temple and stay for two months and pretty much be the temple peon in exchange. Now, she was super nice and I'll probably go to Buddhist hell and become a hungry ghost for this one, but she was completely tone deaf. During the chanting, she was so tone deaf that she would make it sound almost demonic. It was no wonder the other monks kicked her out after two months.

Anyway, we went to sleep at nine, getting ready to wake up at 3:30 AM for some more chanting. I ended up talking with the guy I was rooming with for a long time, (No co-ed housing. Zen and the town in Footloose are about on par in terms of progressiveness) so I got about 4 hours sleep.

The next day, we woke up and went to the temple at 3:30. It was still dark, and all you could see was the glow of lights through the lattise work in the temple. It was really striking and beautiful. We went inside and chanted, and my legs almost fell off from sitting on them for so long. Then we went back to the meditation chamber after breakfast (people's stomachs were not getting Zen. They were rip-roaring.) Then, we got to do 108 prostrations while chanting in the temple.

A prostration is going from standing straight up to laying down to lying on your knees with your head to the ground. Do that 108 times. That's right. I almost died. And my tendon in my right knee almost snapped like a rubber band. I hobbled my way to the garden, where I helped the monks with tend to their crops.

Then we hopped back on the bus and headed out of there. All irreverence aside, it was really nice. The head monk was very gracious, even when the Swedish guy was seven feet in front of him during the tea ceremony taking picture after picture of him, flash on, with a thunderous shutter. I wanted to back hand him and say, "Ikke jor det, mother@*#&@*!" But that would be Norwegian, and he wouldn't understand me.

The tea ceremony was really pretty, and I will bring a tea set home and hook every one up with some very quality green tea.

I love Ricola

Showing my appreciation for years of throat relief.