Under a New Umbrella

Tonight we walked home in the rain - laughing, chatting, sharing an umbrella amidst the busy streets of Jeonju, Korea. My hand clutched his arm tightly so we could both avoid the warm August rain (it dripped off our elbows anyway). The sun was freshly set, nestled behind the lush mountains in the distance, though there were buildings in the way as we walked. Cars contantly honked as we jumped over puddles and dashed by turning white cars. I don't think they paint cars any colours besides white, silver, and black (our little Jellybean would stick out much like we do, even with its dull finish). In an attempt to have appropriate footwear, I had mistakenly worn my cheap Payless shoes all day - not only did I have blisters, but my feet reeked to high heaven when I took them off to enter restaurants or schools.

In our stomachs we each had yet another free Korean meal from the pockets of generous strangers in suits and ties with embedded rhinestones. Tonight, I had confidently poured the entire contents of a little dish onto my rice bowl (containing all sorts of strange bits). Apparently I was only supposed to add a few drops and so made the dish kind of gross by accident. The one principal, AKA, Andy's boss, (he who does not speak any English at all and forgets that we speak no Korean and so will look right at us and speak a mile a minute in Korean - kinda funny) switched mine with his, and had to get an extra order of rice to tone it down. This was the third meal we had shared with principals, sitting around tables, conversing in broken English and gestures (and me secretly gagging everything down).

It's new, but it's good. Very good. And we are wet and smiling as we climb the stairs to our new little apartment that smells just a bit like sewer. Tomorrow we may buy bicycles and maybe some new shoes.