IntimiKate

Today I crossed paths with an awful man.  I truly can say that I dislike him and there are not many people I dislike.  Most people with qualities that are not as desirable can be summed up as undesirable becuase they are facing a personal issue or insecurity that they take out on others.  Perhaps that is the case with this man.  

Anyhow, I am taking over the accounts of the older gentleman I work with.  I have picked up on things quickly and done my best to please everyone.  Today, he took me to lunch and the sore of one of our biggest clients. 

The first thing the man said when he apprached us was, “I’m taking all our printing at Alphagraphics.”  I don’t know this man, and sarcastic people are not ones I deal with well.  My mentor had already warned me and told me that he would try to push my buttons.  He flat out told me I was going to be fired before I even starting working on his account.  He said,  ”Well I only work with you printing company because of Vern, so as soon as he goes, you’ll lose my account.  And then your boss will fire you.”

Now perhaps some quick thinking witty people would have come up with a quick comeback as my mentor had instructed I do, but I wasn’t able to.  I just stood and gave a little laugh, “Is that so?” and hpoed he was joking.  

In all honesty, I would have liked to say to him, if that’s the case then I might as well just be fired since I wouldn’t want to work for someone who would fire me for the likes of you. 

My mentor was quick to brag about all my world travels.  Most people respond with interest, but not this guy.  He asked how I thought all my world travels would help me print for him.  

My mentor quickly responded before I got a chance that my travels helped me deal with all kinds of people, people like him.  

Actually, no they hadn’t, because I had never met anyone quite as rude as this guy in all my experiences.  I could have told that to the man, but perhaps that would have been an ego-boost.  

The New Girl

Today, I learned that in the business world, it’s not always easy to be liked by everyone.  There were two sales people in the office before I came.  A woman, late forties, probably over ten years at the business, and an 80 yea rold millionare that sells printing for fun.  The latter took an imediate liking to me and was actually the man who talked the boss into giving me a job.  He uses all kins of great phrases, like “She’s a flithead.” and “We’re going to kill a fat hog.”  He loves business.   It’s like a game to him.  He’s going to make me his business grandfather.  He calls his clients and tells them about his new little firecracker/smart cookie he’s got here.

The problem is this: Today he informed me that before I came waltzing in, a 26-year-old, with zero business experience, waving around my resume that lists samba and fishing for piranha with toes under skills, the other female salesperson would have gotten all of the accounts that my business grandfather is planning on me taking over.  Ouch.  Should I feel bad?   

Searching for Deeper Meaning in Printing

I am trying very hard to find deeper meaning in my current work.  I am feeling like a puzzled piece stuck into the wrong box.  I have just come from a place where they catch fish to eat them for breakfast. The live in homes with extended family. They don’t wear shoes and they smile a lot.  

Today, my 80-year-old “mentor” drove me around in his Mercedes pointing out his high-rise condo.   He’s doing a remodeling–about a half million worth of work inside his unit , just the basics–carpet, paint etc..

He also pointed out other condos he is planning on buying.  He went on a vacaion this past weekened but returned when the service wasn’t top notch.

Now, I’m trying to find balance between these two worlds.

Adventure is Everywhere

After living in South Korea, Spain, and Brazil, drinking ayuhuasca in Peru and riding in Rio’s taxis with coke dealers, I felt I would be severely disappointed taking a job in printing sales in Phoenix, Arizona.  

Yesterday, I cried the whole way home after I spent nine hour punching holes in spiral notebooks for binding.  And the silly things probably won’t even get read.  

Today, I am rubbing my palm together in delight, after realizing there is adventure to be found in my new job. After a very serious business meeting at a shiny-topped conference table, my boss treated me to a cheeseburger and milkshake at McDonald’s.  But the real treat was when he informed me that our design guy is sometimes a girl and the two printers are rednecks.  Interesting equation to add into the printing workflow.  

CorporKate

So, today was the third day of my first job in the United States since college.  Trying my best not to mess up at work, however I did have a little homework oopsie.  Here’s how the conversation went with my new boss when I returned my hiring paperwork and health insurance application.

“Do you like coffee?”  I smiled sweetly.

He gave me a strange look.  ”Yes, I like coffee.”  

“Oh good, cause I left a little here on this paperwork for you.”  I held out the brown-stained crumpled papers.  

 

 

Asian Toilet and Milky White Substance

My second week in Korea.

I am still learning new things everyday.  This week I learned how to use the restroom, or I was potty-trained.  The restroom in the hagwon I work in is a traditional Korean facility, in which the toilet is a hole in the floor, (there is plumbing, so it does flush).  The first time I walked in, I immediately walked back out thinking I had made a mistake and had gone into the men’s (wouldn’t be the first time).  When I realized that it was the women’s, I decided that I didn’t have to go that bad and I could wait until I returned home.  However, this week I discovered where I could buy iced caffe lattes, so my bladder has not been able to prevail in holding it’s contents all day.

First I double check with Sunny, and once it is determined that this is the restroom that the teachers also use, she explains that you have to squat down but don’t sit on he floor. (Obviously, I would not sit on the floor; I’m not that incompetent.)  I enter the small room and stare at the strange opening on the floor wondering how to approach this obstacle in my long dress.  ‘I can do this; I do it at the bar all the time…just have to use my leg muscles to stabilize…’  Okay, not quite like at the bars where the target is much higher.  I quickly learn that what goes down (from a great distance) will splash back up in revenge, Gross! ….Alright, where is the toilet paper?  It’s in the office.  I will just go grab some with my underwear around my legs, or better yet, I will call out to the director, “Mr. Soe, could you please bring me some TP, I’m in the third stall.”  No, I will drip dry; I’ve done it before, but it’s much more disgusting when you’re not piss drunk.

The kids are amazing.   On Monday, a boy bought the entire class, including me, ice-creams from the vending machine.  I waited until I was finished with the lecture and finally opened it once the class was doing an activity.  It was a little melted so I had to eat it fast. 

I take a bite and a white milky substance runs out all over me, (my face, shirt, skirt, hands, arms, hair, everywhere.)  I walk to the trash and attempt to dump the remaining liquid.  I then bite it again, revealing the strangest thing I have ever seen in icecream—Beans!  There are beans in my ice-cream and I am covered in white goo.  I throw the disgusting excuse for ice-cream into the trash while the class is not looking, and go to the restroom to wash myself off.  Yuck!

On Thursday, Miss Im, a few of the teachers and I went out to a bar.  The ambiance was cool; the bar was a lounge on the top floor of a building that overlooked the city.  It reminded of the Sky Lounge in Phoenix.  I had my first taste of Korean beer and soju.  I practiced my bar manners in which one cannot pour their own drink and when pouring another person’s drink you should use both hands.  I was also forced to eat a tiny dried fish (bones and all) that is part of the bar snack food (called anju).  The bones were chewy so they had no taste, but I still stuck to the peanuts and fruit.

As if the dried fish was not enough, at dinner Sunny announced to me that we were having live fish.  I sat and just looked around at everyone’s face in amazement to see if they were kidding.  I have been brave and tried everything up to this point, but I just don’t think I can eat live fish.  I repeated, “live fish” and made a flopping motion with my hand.  “Oh, no I mean fresh fish.”  Whew, that was close!  I think that she actually meant raw fish.  It was strips of what looked like raw fish still in the skin, covered in a spicy red chili sauce and other unknown things.  I took a couple of bites and my eyes started to water from the spice.  I blamed it on the spice but it was truly the texture and the fact that it still had skin that forced me to eat off the side dishes instead.  I am doing a little better with the chopsticks, but I was lucky that we didn’t go anywhere after because one-quarter of my dinner had ended up on my legs.  (The table was the traditional low table in which you sit on the floor without shoes.)

I finally hiked the mountain in my backyard on Friday.  The trail actually is closer to my door than the Camelback’s Echo Canyon trail to the parking lot.  It was a pleasant hike, not too difficult.  As I neared the top I stopped and looked off the edge of a boulder at the beautiful mountains and islands of Yeosu.  I thought that I was alone when I heard someone yelling.  I wondered if someone was hurt.  I kept walking, and when I reached the top I realized that this yelling is the Korean style of yodeling at the top of a mountain.  I refrained from yodeling, maybe next time I will give it a shot.

I have had to wash my dishes in the bathtub this weekend because my sink faucet is not working.  It’s actually is not that bad; I can kill two birds with one stone.  I can bathe and wash the dishes at the same time.  The bacon grease has proved itself as a quality lubricant, leaving my skin shiny and radiant.  I just have to make sure I rinse all the carrot peels out of my hair.    

Getting Clean(ed) in Korea

Busan, Dongnae Hot Springs    

 After stripping down and walking through the large locker room area for a couple minutes trying to find the way to the bath area, a woman guided us to the door.  As we stepped into the bath area the bright sunlight shocked me.  I hesitated momentarily thinking I had made a mistake and stepped outside.  It was like one of those dreams when you go into public and forget to put on clothes.  But then, as I walked in further I saw all of the other women.  It was like a scene from an old Roman painting.  There were pools of clear water, fountains, waterfalls, statues, and naked women everywhere.  The ceiling was a glass dome so it appeared as if it was outdoors.  There were nude children playing in the water, women lounging around the pools drinking iced coffees, and orange juice.  Toward the back, there were women standing under high pressure waterfalls enjoying the water massaging their shoulders and backs.  Behind the waterfalls there were young girls playing in a cave.  Women were eating, chatting, reading, drinking, scrubbing, washing, and relaxing; and doing all of this in the nude.  They are not modest at all, unlike the locker rooms in the States where most people cover up with a towel while walking from the shower to the locker.  After the first moment of awkwardness, I too, became quite comfortable walking around naked, hopping from one tub to the next.

After we soaked in the tubs, a naked woman approached us selling facials, shampoos, massages, and body exfoliation.  The latter is very popular here; Koreans love to scrub their skin so hard that it comes off in patches.  I decided I could use a facial, so I followed her to the area.  There were five naked women lying on cushioned tables being washed by the naked women that worked there.  I was led to a table in the middle and ordered to lie down on my back.  Apparently the woman did not understand me when I asked to a facial, or she independently decided that I needed to be exfoliated.  I don’t know, maybe she thought, ‘this dirty foreigner must be cleaned,’ or ‘she is too tan, I must scrub this tan off of her skin, and make her white and beautiful.’  So instead of a facial, I received a good hard scrub down.  Now you may be thinking, it sounds like something from a sexy movie, with naked women bathing other naked women, but this is not the case at all.  It is more similar to a car wash.

First, a bucket of water was thrown over me.  Then, I was rubbed all over with a rough loofah sponge.  After it seemed like an entire layer of skin was buffed off, another bucket of water, and I was flipped over.  I opened my eyes and glanced at the ladies next to me.  I felt like one of the many fish that I saw in the market that day, which was being cleaned, descaled, and ready to be eaten.  All of my human qualities had vanished, I was now not a vulnerable naked girl, but a piece of meat, a part of a routine process.  After the back of my body was descaled, rinsed, and pounded.  I was thoroughly lathered and rinsed again.  The enjoyable part was the shampoo; the scalp massage was the best I’ve ever felt.  I would have gone through it all again, just for the shampoo, but I figured I’d better wait until the top layer of skin grew back, before I tried it again.  I was afraid with another treatment, my skin would be scraped off down to the bone.  I went out of the spa feeling fresh and squeaky clean, smelling of soap.  Then we went directly to Kalbi.  I went out of there feeling even better, smelling of meat, beer, and soju.

Going to Rio

I‘m going to Rio.  I’ll meet you in Rio.  These phrases connote a picture.  One pictures a fancy private jet.  A classy woman wearing large diamond earrings, a royal blue brilliant cocktail dress sitting cross-legged, fingering a glass of Champaign.  A gentleman in a three piece suit stands nearby pouring a glass of scotch gazing at his newly won prize for the weekend.  Rio de Janeiro—city of lust, city of passion, city of beauty. 

The snapshots from my weekend getaways to Rio are a much different picture.  We haul our backpacks stuffed with hairdryer, boots, tan heels, white heels, black heels, and a number of possible different outfits.  I rest my head on the crowded bus gazing out the window sometimes listening to music and sometimes thinking about my life and the next paths I will take.  Sometimes I think of the approaching adventures awaiting me in Rio this weekend.  I begin to feel the excitement for my favorite city in the world as we cross the big bridge.  I gaze out across the water to view my favorite city skyline.  The one with the unmistakable ghostly statue hovering over the nightlights like a guardian.  The Christo welcomes visitors with open arms, the same way the people of Rio, or Cariocas, will when you meet them.  What handsome boy will I fall into the arms of this weekend? 

The woman and man continue their passion in a penthouse suite overlooking Copacabana, or nowadays more appropriately Ipanema, the two most famous beaches in Rio or perhaps in the world.

My love story ends up walking down the back-streets of central Rio holding the hand of my Brazilian boyfriend of the month, searching for a love motel in bohemian Lapa.  The kind that comes fully equipped with a circular bed and a one-station music player beside it playing soft rock.   

One city, two stories; I like to think mine is more original though.  

Eel Rescue

I was a lifeguard when I was younger, but this was the strangest rescue I ever made.

I saved an eel today.  I couldn’t just let it lie there in the gutter next to the fish truck it had fallen or jumped out of.  I figured if it was smart enough to escape from the truck headed for it its doom, I should take the initiative to help it back to its freedom by carrying it back to the sea.  Survival of the fittest, right? 

You can imagine how it looked–a silly blonde girl running a half mile down the road with my arms outstretched in front of me, carrying an eel wrapped in a towel.  There I was, running at top speed, past puzzled Koreans wondering where I was going with their lunch. 

Once I reached the water I hopped over the safety rail, stumbled down a step incline of sea boulders and released the eel back into its natural habitat.  However it did not immediately swim away into the deep water, waving goodbye as I expected it to.  It just laid there belly up.  I had to turn it right side up again. ”Off you go little eel,” but the tide kept pushing it back amongst the rocks in the shallow water.  His fins just weren’t strong enough to get him into the deep water. 

I had to take matters into my own hands.  I removed my shoes, picked up the eel and waded out into the water until it was up to my thighs.  I put the eel into the water, watched for a moment waited for him to swim away; then I trudged back to the land, where about a dozen men were watching, took off my socks, wrung out the bottoms of top layer of pants the best I could, and put my sneakers back on. 

Once, I reached the road I turned around.  It was then that I saw the little eel going further out into the sea.  However he was not swimming as I imagined but rather flying through the air in the beak of a seagull.  Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.

Korean BBQ

From raw meat to soju bombs, Katie O’Hara explores Korean cuisine and table etiquette while living in Yeosu, on the southernmost tip of the Korean peninsula.

Sizzle, snap, hiss…the skillet on the table in front of me whispers—beckoning me to the exotic flavors of duk-kalbi, a Korean barbequed chicken dish.  The heavily seasoned chicken and mixed vegetables are almost ready.  The waitress enters with a platter in hand.  To my horror, she dumps three squirming young octopi into the burning grill.  Seeing the shocked expression on my face, she attempts to conceal the octopi underneath the vegetables, but the tentacles continue to slip out from beneath, wrapping around the spoon as she forces them to the depths on the pan—to their fiery death.  I can almost hear their little voices begging for mercy.  I glance at the display aquarium behind me and am tempted to snatch the eight-legged creatures out and throw them into the water. 

Their skin has turned to reddish hue and the flurry of activity has ceased, but I can still see the gills of the uppermost fish pulsating.  I preoccupy my attention with the kimchi, (spicy pickled cabbage) pretending not to notice as the waitress cuts the bodies into bite-size pieces.  I force myself to try the octopus to satisfy my eager hosts.  Despite the desire to plug my nose and swallow the rubbery legs whole, I chew carefully, remembering the horror stories about Koreans that have choked and died from still-functioning octopus suction cups attaching to their throats.     

Not all of my experiences with Korean food have been this intense.  In fact, after having gotten the hang of chopsticks, they have been pleasant, and the food—delicious. 

Kalbi, a marinated beef or pork dish, is cooked on a grill in the center of the low table.  Once the meat is brown to liking, it is cut into bite size pieces with shears and picked from the grill chopsticks.  The meat can be eaten as is, but is most often rolled into a Korean taco.  My favorite method—a large slice of mu (Asian radish), the meat dipped in sesame oil, a clove of roasted garlic, a dab of hot pepper paste  to give it a bite, topped with shaved onion and cabbage in a spicy vinaigrette, wrapped to perfection in a crunchy lettuce leaf—like a gift for the anticipating taste buds.   The unique blend of flavors is peppery and sweet at the same time. 

A Korean barbeque not only satisfies hunger, but is a great social meal.  I spent a great many Sundays with close friends, seated on floor cushions around a low table.  The side dishes fill the tabletop—a smorgasbord of colors and flavors, eaten collectively, by picking the desired bite from a dish a moment before you eat it, instead of placing an entire portion on a plate.  The only plate that is actually your own is a serving of spicy cabbage and onion and a bowl of rice.  One heaping plate of food it not consumed at once, leaving more room for conversation, and allows for full appreciation of the separate tastes entering the mouth. 

Soju is essential to a proper kalbi dinner.  My friend Kyeong-ho once informed me that a shot of soju before each bite cleanses the palate, preparing the mouth for the full flavor of the food.  Soju, the Korean vodka is cheap, plentiful, and toxic.  Originally the liquor was distilled from potatoes, but today, the potato version is expensive.  Most people buy the economical brand, about 2000 won ($2) a bottle, which is purely made up of chemicals.  This may explain the searing headaches that I had woken up with after a night of soju at the No-rae Bang, or karaoke room. 

One should never pour their own drink, and it is considered rude to let another’s cup go empty.  When pouring a drink for a superior, both hands should be used, the same when receiving.  A superior pours with one hand while the other rests on the pouring arms elbow.  At the same time, it’s disrespectful for an employee to take a shot directly in front of his boss, even if it was poured by him.  I was confused the first time I saw a man turn his head to the side and cover the glass while he drank a shot.  I wondered who he was trying to fool, since he was clearly taking a shot of alcohol.  Another method is the “bomb.”  The same idea as the Japanese Saki bomber, the soju is dropped into a glass of beer, usually Hite, the Bud of Korean beers. 

Koreans will insist on you eating more and more.  The first dinner I had experienced with my employer and his wife, they kindly helped me, help myself by actually feeding me like a child when I was unable to make cover the distance from the meat skillet to my mouth.  Picking the tenderest cuts from the grill, they shoved their chopsticks in front of my face and motioned for me to open my mouth wide like a baby bird.

My family, including a picky 16-year old brother and vegetarian sister dined in a Kalbi restaurant with my employer during their visit to Korea.  My mouth was watering as we waited for the meat to arrive and the firing up of the grille.  However, the meat brought out was not the usual marinated beef.  The woman brought out a variety of smaller dishes, each with 4 pieces of raw meat, fish, and other unidentified raw objects.  She did not start the grill.  My director watched us expectantly, waiting for us to dig in and devour the raw meat.  We glanced at each other from across the table knowing what we had to do.  “Please, help yourself,” said my director, motioning to the red oozing carcasses.

Not wanting to offend my boss in his gracious offering, we slowly picked up our chopsticks and chose a piece.  I chose a slice of raw beef, at least I knew what it was, which is more than I can say for some of the other dishes.  One looked like sea anemone, another I think pig intestines.  I doused the meat in sesame oil and popped it in my mouth.  Upon seeing that my brother and sister were not helping themselves, he believed it to be a result of inadequate chopstick skills and took to feeding them as he did with me when I first arrived.  Luckily, he was so busy feeding raw meat to my brother and vegetarian sister; he didn’t notice I had only eaten one piece. Thankfully, after that, the meat that was to be cooked came out, and we enjoyed a delicious meal.  My boss continued to feed my brother, but he gratefully opened wide and accepted the giant lettuce wraps with bubbling cooked meat.  Vouching for Korean food, my 5-year vegetarian sister has returned to carnivorism after a forced taste of kalbi.  Don’t just listen to me, get to a restaurant and try it yourself.

Before the grill has cooled at the end of a kalbi meal, the remaining white rice can be dumped into the grill and mixed with the leftover condiments on the table creating a dish called bibimbap.  After the addition of the hot pepper paste, Bibimbap clears the sinuses and ignites the tongue.  If the scrumptious kalbi lettuce wraps—so good they’ll make you cry—don’t leave tears in your eyes, the rice will!

 

Recipe for Kalbi

Ingredients:

 

• 2 lbs beef or pork
• ½ cup soy sauce
• ½ cup cooking wine
• 1 tbsp sesame oil
• 4 sliced green onions
• ½ inch slice grated ginger
• 1 cup mushrooms
• 3 cloves minced garlic
• 6 cloves sliced garlic (big slices)
• 1 tsp sugar
• ½ tsp pepper

Cook:

Mix soy sauce, sesame oil, cooking wine, sugar, pepper, onions, ginger, and minced garlic in a bowl.  Slice the meat halfway through.  Marinate for 5 hours.  Brown the meat in large saucepan, next to the mushrooms, sliced cloves of garlic.  Cut into bite size pieces.

Accessorize:

Arrange a variety of condiments on table in separate small dishes.  Each diner should have his or her own bowl of rice and cabbage/onion in vinaigrette.

 

• Asian radish into very thin sections (found in Asian markets)
• Slice or shaved cabbage and onion in vinegar, sprinkled with pimento
• Korean red pepper paste (found in Korean or Asian specialty food stores)
• 2 tbsp sesame oil
• Whole lettuce leaves
• White rice

Eat:

Using chopsticks, dip meat in oil.  Place in large lettuce leaf.  Dap a bit of red pepper paste, and add desired condiments—onion, grilled or raw garlic, radish, cabbage, or mushroom.  Fold sides in and enclose.  Open wide and place entire lettuce wrap into mouth!

 

Kalbi shiktangs, traditional Korean restaurants where diners sit on the floor, inhabit every nook and cranny of the country—from tiny cherry blossom mountain villages to metropolitan monsters like Seoul and Busan.  My personal favorite, Dong-chi-chong, in Yeosu city, has great side dishes—like their spicy, crunchy mu-kimchi (pickled Asian radish.)  To uncover a good shiktang in your area, pop your head into a couple; a grill in the center of the table and a crowd of Koreans usually means delicious kalbi.  If you are working in Korea, ask your boss or coworkers for their local recommendation. 

 

A couple of recommendations in the Seoul area:

Hwangtomaru, Insa-Dong

Ondal

21 Gwangjang-dong, Gwagjin-gu

82-02-450-4518

 

Chushinjung

44-1 Yeouido-dong

82-02-784-6662