A tale of two Daecheons

It's Friday afternoon, and I'm getting ready to finish a long work week. It's pouring rain outside (wouldn't you know?), and I'm thinking about sunnier times. The couple of times in the last two weeks I had a break from the deluge, I just happened to be at the beach.

Two weeks ago I went to the Mud Festival on Daecheon Beach. I had bought my train ticket weeks in advance, and was happy to have a seat for what was certain to be a very crowded event. Come to realize, three days before depature, that I had bought a ticket to Daejeon, not Daecheon. This isn't the first time this type of thing has happened. One day I was to meet a friend in Sincheon, and couldn't find her because I was in Sinchon. At least those two places are in the same city--Daejeon is on the other side of Korea. I was able to exchange my ticket, but I ended up with a standing ticket, which equated to 2 and 1/2 hours of misery. I was packed in a car with a bunch of obnoxious and loud foreignors, most of whom were already drunk at 10:30am.

When I reached Daecheon, I met Pamela, who had a miserable trip down herself. We decided right away we wanted nothing to do with the crowd, so we covered ourselves in mud and did our own thing. I should take this opportunity to mention that the mud in Daecheon is very high in mineral content and considered therapeutic. After sitting on the beach and drinking soju, we washed the mud off in the ocean. The tide was coming in, and we caught some nice waves.



After showering and getting pretty, we went out on the town. Dinner consisted of delicious grilled scallops, and we went to the Noraebang (singing room) afterwards with Pam's yuppie (but very cool and friendly) friends. Later that night, we sat on the beach and witnessed the most spectacular fireworks show I had ever witnessed. It was a fun day, but taxing. We both decided the next day to skip the rest of the weekend, going our seperate ways to Seoul and Suwon. I really liked the beach, the mud, and the scallops, but was a little disenchanted with the crowd.
So I decided to go back the next weekend.



The following Saturday was a completely different scene. Yes, it was packed. Only this timed it was crowded with Koreans, with virtually no foreignors. I have to admit that I enjoyed the atmosphere much more the second time. For starters, I was able to sit in a comfortable seat on the train ride down. It helps to not arrive in a bad mood. Sacha made the trip with me, and Gina agreed to meet us down there. We spent the entire day relaxing on the beach, and taking the occasional swim. We were joined by a friendly Russian stranger named George, who was wearing a very sexy speedo. He was a nice fellow, though, and I think he may start dating Gina. (She's going to read this and I'll hear about that comment, no doubt.) I should give her credit for taking this photo. It really captures the essence of our relaxing and fun afternoon--too bad she's not in it. After saying goodbye to George, we cleaned up at a fabulous (I wouldn't normally use that word, but it's apt in this case) sauna. Then we proceeded to eat... what else?: Grilled scallops. They were just as tasty as the week before and Sacha and Gina were as impressed as I had been. I'm going back to this beach soon, as it is a great place to chill. I will probably go back tomorrow, if it isn't dumping rain.

Rain, rain, go away!

Last weekend I went to the west coast and enjoyed the mud festival (more on that when I get the pictures). While I was there, something really strange happened: An entire day passed by without any rain!! Of course, I heard that it poured buckets back here in Suwon, but that's to be expected. I cut the weekend short the following day, as it started pouring.

While I'm gathering my photos from the beach, I'd like to take this opportunity to formally complain about the weather. I'm not exaggerating when I say it has been raining for a month straight. It has rained at least 12 straight days here, and I'm talking about pouring rain. Sure, there are a few misty respites throughout the course of the day, but I honestly haven't seen the sun in three weeks. Another week of this and I'm going to start building an ark.

Now, I understand that it's sweltering back home (and if you have a blog, you're welcome to formally complain about that). For crying out loud, though... it's July!!! What kind of summer is this? Hey guess what everybody?: it's pouring outside right now--absolutely dumping rain. I'm reminded of the Vietnam scene in Forrest Gump where he relates the way the rain continues for months and he experiences every kind of rain. I feel you, Forrest.

While it was kind of a novelty when it rained through the entire month of June, it's really getting old now. For the past two weeks I've had students complaining about the rain on a daily basis. I tell them that it rains every day, and there's nothing we can do about it, so there's no need to complain. However, I'm starting to break down and complain myself. Today, when a student complained about the rain, I responded by saying: "I'm with you, this is ridiculous!". Then I walked to the window and called out to the sky: "QUIT!!! Quit raining! It's July! Where is the sun??!!". Nothing happened, though, and it continued to pour to a gloomy grey backdrop.

I'm hoping it will let up by this weekend, but I'm certainly not counting on it. This stuff has to let up some time. It can't rain forever... can it?

Farewell, dear Zizou

Hi everybody!! Here are a couple of pictures from Sokcho Beach, which is where I went last weekend with some friends. It was cool and rainy all weekend, which was kind of a bummer. Pictured in the group are Barb, Gina, Steph, Bryan, and Andrew. You can also spot Pam in the distance pondering life. In the other picture, I wanted to capture the horizon, but got the bonus of capturing a profile of Gina's mug. The weekend was fun, and I wanted to show these pictures. However, the pictures are completely unrelated to the subject of today's entry.

Of course, I'm going to talk about the World Cup. While I had a great month, I'm happy it's over so I can go back to having some semblance of normalcy. With so many 4am games to watch, the last four weeks have been physically grueling, so this week I'm picking up the pieces and recovering. I'm also devoting some much needed attention to the blog, as I will make up for the lost time.

On Saturday evening, someone asked me who I was rooting for to win the final, to which I replied: "France." Why France?? One reason only: Zinedine Zidane. I told my friend that I was pulling for Zizou as he was retiring after the cup and that I had always admired the dignity and class he displayed as much as his phenomenal skill. I had told Bryan the weekend before (when we watched a masterful Zidane lead Les Bleus past the juggernaut Brazilians) that watching an in-form Zizou play would be like watching Picasso paint. He displays a brand of unique genius, grace, and artistry that only comes along once in a generation.

As I watched the final at Hoki's last night, with my Australian friend Sacha, I told him that I had felt a little sad watching a brilliant Zidane play against Portugal with the knowledge that it be no more after the final. As I watched the game, I was thinking of all the superlatives I would use in this entry. I thought of the time earlier this year when I watched a skills competition involving many star European players. One of the competitions was 30 meter free kicks, which was when an interesting and poignant moment occurred. While Zizou was lined up to take his kick, a young boy slipped past security and ran on to the field and up to the star player just to touch him. Zidane didn't walk off and leave the boy to security. Instead he put his arm around the boy and talked to him, which will undoubtedly be a story the boy tells the rest of his life. I felt that moment was emblematic of the sincerity and class that I've always seen from this athlete.

As the game went on, I was shaking my head in awe of the transcendent first touch of this truly special player. After he nearly de-pantsed the greatest goalie in the world on a feather-light penalty kick that kissed the post as it crossed the goal line, I remarked to Sacha that I admired the manner in which this man celebrates his goals. I'd never seen him pull his shirt over his head, or run to the corner flag tugging his jersey. He simply raised one arm, then turned around and jogged back to the half line. It's like when the NFL's great Barry Sanders would hand the ball to the referee non-chalantly after scoring a dazzling touchdown--soft-spoken greatness.

I had many of these kinds of thoughts and sentiments as the game went into overtime, with Zidane still playing with fire and his unique skill. And then... it happened. I'm certain everyone knows what I'm talking about without my having to re-cap the incident here. I'll just say this much: It made me think of a very classy player back home named Andy Stann. (The few people who get that will find it hilarious.) While I was very disappointed with and bewildered by Zizou's incident, it made me realize that he is human. For as cool as he is 98 percent of the time, occasionally the great Zidane has lost his head; and boy, did he ever lose it in the final!

I don't believe this incident cost France the final, but it would be a shame if this is what Z.Z. is remembered for. Personally, I'll remember him for the '98 final rather than this one. The real reason for France's losing the game was a cruel jinx perpetrated by yours truly. As David Trezeguet stepped up to the spot during penalty kicks, I turned to Sacha and announced: "He's going to hit the post." The rest, as they say, is history.

Oh well. At least I can say I'm happy for Salvatore and his brother Vincenzo back in St. Louis. Congratulations, fellas.