Seoul

I love airports. Sometimes I think I travel just to see airports. I have spent hours scheming a way to get sponsored to fly around the world on every airline possible with a stop at every airport on the planet. Maybe I can try for a world record. If I can pull together enough money I hope to make this my first documentary project. By my estimation, airports are true monuments to mankind's greatest achievement - flight. They are the true United Nations.

Airplanes, on the other hand, I'm not so keen on. The flying is fine, in fact I love flying, it's the whole pajama party in the sky scenario that underwhelms me. Particularly because, at this sleepover, you don't get to chose who you unroll your sleeping bag next to and I inevitably end up next to the bed wetters. "I wish," I said to my mother before leaving, "instead of giving you the option to choose a window or aisle seat they ought to offer a choice between nursery or handsome bachelor."

I did actually get my handsome bachelor on the overseas leg of the flight. Unfortunately he was accompanied by his mother and two decades younger than me or I'd have snapped him up. Not only did he fix my in flight entertainment center but he folded his hands prayerfully and bowed his head almost reverentially after doing it to. I was agog and had to remind myself that all too soon puberty would transform him into a great big jerk and I felt sorry for the girl who's heart he was going to break.

I fell asleep for a few hours in Seoul airport while waiting for dawn, but I managed to make it into the city by mid morning. Thanks to Joseph at Somewhere in Dhamma I knew exactly where to go and make the most of my few hours there.

The first recognizable landmark for me was the I Want apartments which I recalled from one of Joseph's posts and made me grin despite my jet lag. The first stop though was the palace which I loved for the lily pond, but was, quite frankly, terrified of thanks to incessant buzzing and whirring. Welcome to Seoul, City of Screaming trees.

Whatever was shrieking in the foliage was either averse to asphalt or drowned out by the traffic because it couldn't be heard on the city streets. I went in search of the temple lost in a lunchtime crowd of investment bankers and real estate lawyers, hundreds of them dressed in uniform black and white and gray. I felt awkward and conspicuous. I began to second guess everything, from my choice of lunch (yogurt and a banana-maybe I should have tried harder to find some local cuisine?) to my life (Am I completely mad to leave everything I know behind and dive into the unknown as though it was all a big lark?) I was on the verge of panicked exhausted tears when I stumbled on the very same, in every detail, Buddha statue from my birthday dream.

After a half hour of respite in the temple I took a far too quick tour through part of Insadong. It was here I discovered, aside from the most amazing collection of antique books, teapots and toys, that it's not only Indian men who want to have their pictures taken with random white girls. I wonder what stories trhey make up when they show them to their friends?

By two o'clock I was back on the bus to the airport catch my flight to Singapore where a Ms. Heni was waiting to pick me up.

Peas and Cues

We were at a thali stop on our way to Pokhara, Nepal when I offered to share my plate with my travel companion and she helped herself. Back on the bus she was consulting her guidebook and read, "It is considered rude and unclean to eat food off another person's plate." She was mortified. I speculated that this might only be the case in remote areas or when food has been blessed by a holy man. She eyed me skeptically.

"Or we just ate like barbarians. We're two white chicks, I'm sure they expect us to be strange," I shrugged.

I always try to be well mannered and aware of local customs when I roam about the planet, so I wasn't being dismissive, but it's impossible to always get it right and I've noticed that gracious hosts forgive the unimportant and are quick to educate about any offensive faux pas. I was in a bar in Nicaragua with a drink in my right hand, for instance, when I learned not to proffer my left hand in greeting. (This is universally true I know, though apparently only imperative in countries where toilet tissue isn't ubiquitous.) Embarrassing, sure, but comical and lead into an enlightening conversation in comparative cultures.

Back in Nepal, subsequent meals involved mutual lamentation about wanting to taste each other's orders but my travel friend refused. One evening I went out for dinner with a new Nepali friend who, immediately after our food arrived at the table, suggested we split our plates so we could both try and enjoy everything. While we divvied up our plates I told him about the etiquette advice in my travel buddy's guide book.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said then added, shaking his head and laughing, "Americans and their guidebooks. Always they believe everything only from their guidebooks."

Which makes me wonder who's seeing the Lonely Planet people coming and saying, "Here, in Tanzania, you are expected to bring a toad on a leash and your own banana leaf bowl with you if invited to dinner."?

Of course, within group differences being greater than between group differences, rudeness is not limited to cross-cultural misunderstandings.

I had an acquaintance over for drinks one afternoon. I offered a plate of strawberries, cheese and fudge with the wine but the conversation spilled into the evening so I cooked up a reasonably large pot of curried chili and served it with corn chips. He ate it all up. I assumed he must still be hungry so I brought out another bag of chips. He finished that too so I refilled the fruit bowl, which had been emptied over the course of the afternoon with more clementines. By now I was getting worried. I didn't have much left to offer him. When remaining clementines were gone I apologized and offered to run to the convenience store to pick up some more chips.

"Um," my company said shyly, "I'm actually full."

Turns out he had been raised that it was rude to not eat everything that was put in front of you. I had been raised to keep feeding company until they refuse to eat anymore. And there we were, a dangerous mix of social proprieties until one of us caves and embarrasses their mother.

You can take the International Dining Etiquette Quiz and try to beat my near perfect 10/11 score (What?! The English really do boil everything) (via How to cook Like your Grandmother)

Plautdietsch Word of the Day:  fe'sseie mich = pardon me