There is certainly a tracker on my Instagram regarding what I’m posting and when. When I go into my “Discover” tab, all I seem to see now are posts that others are uploading to Instagram of Korea. Of course, I am enticed by gorgeous photos all the things we ran out of time to see: the Gamcheon Village, a cultural village (or really, a slum that’s been cleaned up) in Busan that in many ways resembles the colorful favelas of Brazil; the Haedong Yonggunsa temple, one of the few temples I’ve read about that actually sits along the sea; the Jangsan mountain.

The funny thing is that it doesn’t matter how long you spend in any one place, but you’ll never have enough time to see it all. I’ve spent the last eight years living here in New York, yet I still haven’t visited the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, or the Bronx outside of the Yankee Stadium and Little Italy, among other things that would be amazing to visit. In San Francisco, where I lived for my first 18 years, I hadn’t even seen Alcatraz or Muir Woods until two years ago; I still haven’t visited Yosemite, which is so embarrassing since I’ve seen so many other national parks that are less famous throughout the U.S. and abroad. The more I travel, the more I realize I don’t know about the world, but the more I want to learn and see.

I’ve been using sunblock on my face since around age 11 in an attempt to a) prevent too much tanning and of course burning and b) prevent premature aging. Granted, I was never a white-skinned Asian to begin with given that my mom is part Vietnamese, giving me more of an olive-tan natural hue than a white hue. But I also never wanted to be white-skinned, either. In America, people are obsessed with tanning; it’s a compliment when someone tells another that, “You look tan!” Tanned skin is healthy skin here, which is glowing. White skin is perceived as ghost-like and unhealthy. These people are often called “pasty.”

It’s so amusing how different it is in Asia every time I go, how white skin is considered the holy grail. Women carry parasols to block out the harmful UV rays and oftentimes in China would wear loose long-sleeved shirts to protect their precious skin. In Korea, I’ve noticed women applying white powder on their faces from their little compacts. If you go into cosmetic and skincare stores, the foundation and compact shades rarely get any darker than my own skin tone. I overheard someone, a white American woman on our DMZ tour, say that she really wanted to buy a cushion compact, but at all the stores she visited in Myeongdong, the shades were all very light in their limited range; None were as dark as her own skin (she was medium-toned, hardly dark at all).

Several times when I walked into cosmetics stores, the assistants assumed I was interested in whitening products. Each time they asked this of me, I smiled and politely said no, I’m not interested in whitening. I don’t even think my skin is capable of turning lighter, even if I stayed out of the sun 365 days a year!

Another funny thing: on sunscreen bottles in Seoul, the label oftentimes advises that you should stay out of the sun as much as possible even after application. No sunscreen bottle here in the U.S. says that.

We took a tour to the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) and Joint Security Area (JSA) today to get the closest we’ll come anytime soon to North Korea. After having read a few articles about how awful the lives were of people who live in the north (one particular account written up in the New Yorker about nine years ago still is emblazoned in my mind), I wondered if we’d be able to get any glimpse of life of the north side from the DMZ area. Just its name is so ironic since it’s probably one of the most militarized zones in the entire world.

We did get a glimpse — a fake glimpse. When walking to one open area, one of the U.S. army guides pointed to a little village which they found out, after some intense telescoping, is actually fake: the buildings are hollowed; the doors painted on, and the lights that turn on and off operated by a timer. We can hear the North Korean propaganda blazing loudly via loudspeakers while on the south side. And of course, North Korea is hanging their flag on a pole that is 525 feet high, trying to outdo and create a “flag pole war” with South Korea, who has their flag hanging from a pole 323 feet high. This all seems pretty petty and childish… until you hear about all the millions of deaths that came as a result of this war and all the hundreds of thousands of North Koreans who have tried to defect to China, South Korea, Russia, and elsewhere in the region to escape the North Korean dictatorship.

The part of the tour for me that was the most chilling (literally, I could feel my little hairs going up on my arms) was when we were learning about all the infiltration tunnels the North Koreans built in a planned attempt to invade Seoul from underground. We were allowed to tour the third infiltration tunnel up to a certain point, and then we had to turn back. Four tunnels have been discovered, but the South Korean government believes there could be twenty more and are still searching for them.

The idea that a country that broke away could have so much hate to build these massive and incredibly long tunnels to invade their neighbor and likely annihilate a great chunk of their people made me feel so sad and scared for a moment. There are people who really do think like this, and that’s how absurd and terrorizing events like the droppings of the atomic bombs in Japan, Pearl Harbor, and 9/11 happened. Innocent people dying for… nothing, people having their lives taken away in seconds and being completely unaware of it — all of that is so terrifying — or is it for nothing? For the people committing these acts, it’s all really in the name of power. Power and control are what drives people.

After taking the train back from Busan to Seoul this morning, we set out to try a different type of Korean food: “Chinese Korean” in Seoul. I read that Chinese food started becoming popular back in the 40s and 50s in Seoul, since this was when Chinese people started immigrating to the country. A mish-mash of their cuisines began, and so were the two famous dishes of tangsuyuk (sweet and sour pork, Korean style) and jajangmyeon (black bean sauce noodles or zhajiangmian in Mandarin pinyin) born. The only jajangmyeon I’ve ever grown an attachment to has been from San Tung in San Francisco, one of my all-time favorite restaurants ever for their dry-fried chicken and black bean sauce noodles. Their noodles are house made, and the sauce is a blackish-brown bean color, and the closest I’ve come to finding noodles like these away from San Tung have been at Shandong Mama in Melbourne. After reading several food blogs, I found Andongjang, supposedly the oldest Chinese Korean restaurant in Seoul, founded in 1948, known for their house-made noodles for their jajangmyeon and their sweet and sour pork. I told Chris we had to go here.

We came in for lunch and were greeted in Mandarin and Korean, and the service was quite friendly. The man serving us made small talk with me in Mandarin and said he was Chinese and originally from the Shandong province of China. He came here for work and of course learned Korean. I ordered the seafood black bean sauce noodles and the tangsuyuk for us and told him we were sharing everything, and so he had the kitchen divide the noodles into two separate bowls for us and allowed me to mix the sauce into the noodles, just the way they do it at San Tung. I was really blown away by both the noodles and the taste of the sauce; granted, they didn’t give us much seafood and mostly it was onion filler, but the flavor of the sauce and the texture of the noodles was just like San Tung. I almost felt sad when the noodles were finished and wanted to get more, but I knew that would be a bad idea. The sweet and sour pork, probably the only sweet and sour pork I’d ever order, was freshly fried and crispy, with tender meat and just enough sweet and sour sauce drizzled over it. It even came with a decent amount of vegetables.

It’s funny to me that I had my first noodles that tasted like San Tung’s black bean sauce noodles all the way in Seoul. Chris enjoyed the meal and commented it was probably the best service he’s ever received at a Chinese restaurant outside of Flower Drum, the fancy upscale Hong Kong Chinese restaurant in Melbourne. We were both impressed. I know I’ll be thinking about this restaurant a long time after we will have left Seoul.

We’ve been wandering the streets of Seoul and Busan, and occasionally people will stop and try to communicate with us. Of course, since I am yellow, they all just assume I’m Korean, so they start speaking to me in rapid fire Korean. I’ve successfully learned only about a dozen phrases for survival on this trip (this ranges from “hello,” “goodbye,” “thank you,” “delicious,” to “where is the bathroom?” “can you bring me water?”, “can you take me to (fill in the blank)?”). Any other word I recognize is from the Korean dramas I watched during my college days, or from its similarity to English or Chinese (since we all know that Korean is based on Chinese regardless of what any Korean person wants to tell you).

The few people who have tried to talk to us, ranging from a random woman at the 7-Eleven ATM to the woman serving us at a pojangmacha (outdoor eatery where you sit around a cooking station on little stools and eat), have all indicated that had all thought I looked Korean and were surprised I was not. Their next guess is always Chinese, but I tell them I’m from “America,” and they say their long “oooohs.” In Vietnam, everyone thought I was Vietnamese (they were 1/4 correct). Everyone in Japan thought I was Japanese. The people here think I’m Korean. The general theme is that all yellow people think that all other yellow people are their yellow people. It has little to do with what I really look like and more to do with their perceptions of people and the world.

Three of them so far have pointed at Chris and said to me, “Chingu (friend)?” “Anyong (no),” I respond. Not knowing what the Korean term for husband is, I make a hand motion indicating that we’re together. Their eyes always widen and they seem so surprised. I guess the idea of a yellow person being with a brown person is surprising and intriguing to them. It’s more funny to me that they first assume we’re only friends.

We’ve been in Seoul and Busan for about 3.5 days, and in that short time, I’ve already been amusing myself with all the quirks of the culture here. These are some of the things that I’ve chuckled at or been “wowed” by:

(Updated on 7/12):

1. Korean mall food courts: I love these, and I don’t even like to shop. They’re sparkling and pristine just like the ones in Japan, except here in the food court areas, they really thought of everything. There are sterilizer storage machines that look like mini fridges that store plastic or metal cups. Next to these are water dispensers for hot and cold. When you are done, you throw them into the round shoot, perfectly shaped for the cups, so that they can be cleaned by some other hidden machine. This area also has sinks with soap and hand towels for you to use, so you don’t even have to go to the bathroom to wash your hands. I loved this system so much — so efficient!
2. Korean mall bathrooms: Like other bathrooms outside of the U.S., these walls go all the way up to the ceiling. But what was most notable about these was that right by the sinks, there are mouthwash dispensers with mini cups for your use. It’s like they are saying, “We know our food is stinky and has a lot of garlic and fermented fish, but never fear; here’s some mouthwash so your breath doesn’t smell after enjoying all our tasty food!”
3. Korean bathrooms in general: Many of the toilets in fancier buildings will have a little towel you can pull off and use to spray with a disinfectant for the toilet seat. They are obsessed with cleanliness.
4. Lesser Korean bathrooms: Soap bar, not liquid soap. This will gross out so many Westerners.
5. Subway stations: A little jingle plays when the train is about to arrive. In the Busan stations, it’s a classical jingle with what sounds like a kids’ choir. I found it so cute, but I have a feeling that jaded New Yorkers would never go for this and would roll their eyes to no end.
6. Endless ads for plastic surgery: Eyelid surgery before and after. The advertisements are everywhere — in the subway stations, on billboards, on the street; so much pressure to look a certain way.
7. Bathrooms in general: I’ve popped into stores to use their restrooms without buying anything, and no one seems to care; in fact, when I asked in Korean where the bathroom is when I clearly just arrived and had zero intention of buying anything, I was greeted by huge smiles and hand motioning on where the bathrooms are. They’re so kind… or simply just understanding of the fact that when you gotta go, you just gotta go.
8. Chocolate in Korea: Not so good. In fact, it’s pretty disappointing. Chris is not happy.
9. Korean knock-offs: So many Korean knock-offs exist here of everything from Oreos to Digestives (the British biscuit) to even cocoa puffs. Even stores have such similar names and vibes of the ones in the U.S. (Face Shop has such similar font to Body Shop). The fake leather bags felt really, really fake. No wonder they only cost 10,000 won (that’s less than $9 USD).
10. Korean socks: The sock culture here is the epitome of “cute.” Cute, silly socks with caricatures of pigs, monkeys, mustaches, Totoro, little chicks, a design that you are wearing a shoe on your sock — you name it, you can find it. I’ve already bought three pairs. I have no shame; I embrace it.
11. Fish cakes everywhere: We’ve already passed several bakeries where all they are selling is about 50-80 different types of fish cake of all different shapes, sizes, and fillings. Some have minced corn, scallion, and carrot; others are mashed and wrapped around whole shrimp, hot dog, or bacon, and others are flattened and square-shaped, filled with minced kimchi or gochuchang (Korean red hot pepper paste). The obsession with fish cake is delicious to me, but boring to Chris.
12. “Cushion” compacts: It seems like almost every woman is carrying one of these in her purse and pullling it out for occasional touch ups. I’ve noticed this on the street, in restaurants, on the subway, and on train stations. Korea is one of the cosmetic and skincare capitals of the world, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
13. Women’s nails: This must be a trend now, but so many women have each finger and toe a different nail color. I don’t think I could handle this myself. A “party” nail could work for me, but everything else has to match more or less.

We took the train down to Busan this afternoon and spent the rainy evening indoors at Spa Land, which is the biggest Korean spa in all of Korea. My only experience with a Korean spa before this was at Spa Castle in Queens when my Korean-obsessed friend wanted us to check it out. Korean spas are unique to other spas in that in the bath area, everyone strips down nude and doesn’t wear even bathing suits. This makes a lot of Westerners uneasy, so many don’t try these when visiting Korea. This spa has multiple baths at different temperatures, as well as a variety of different saunas at different temperatures, gaming room, individual treatment rooms, a cafe, and restaurant. It’s all paid for via a little “key” scanner that is attached to a bracelet you wear while going through.

The one treatment I was interested in getting was the full body scrub — someone of your same sex will bring you into a room and hand scrub you down with exfoliator pads for a time ranging from ten to forty minutes. In previous reviews, I’ve read that it’s like getting a full layer or two of skin removed from your body; this is how obsessed Koreans are with cleanliness. So why not try it out while I am here?

The experience was one of the strangest ones I’ve had. After indicating that I wanted the 20-minute full body scrub with facial mask treatment, I was guided into a room (by a middle-aged Korean woman wearing only a lacy black bra and underwear) with what looked like six beds wrapped in plastic, making them waterproof. On beds were fully naked women of all sizes, lying on their backs or stomachs getting scrubbed. The naked women lying on their backs had dark green and cucumber mixed masks on their faces, and buckets and buckets of warm water were being thrown on them everywhere. The entire room was wet, wet, wet! It really looked like an autopsy room at a hospital, yet instead of corpses lying on the stretchers, these were all breathing women hoping to be scrubbed squeaky clean and treated to a bath done by someone other than themselves and their mothers. It seemed almost machine like, the work these “ajummas” as they call them were doing.

The ajumma working on me had a gentle touch on my face as she gently massaged my pressure points and spread the cucumber mask all over my face. But, when it came to scrubbing, she was not gentle at all. She scrubbed everything, everywhere — all over my breasts and chest, my legs, my butt, the heels of my foot, and — wow — even around my crotch and between my butt cheeks. This is one of those “only in Korea” experiences because I’m not sure what other country would provide a bath for you like this. Even when I did a Turkish bath and pretty much got body slammed on the waterproof bed I was on — the guy cleaning me did not get anywhere near my crotch. At the end of my 20 minutes, she held my hand and led me off the bed, and she lightly bowed her head and said thank you in Korean. I responded and said thank you to her, too, and bowed my head… and I suddenly realized this was the only time in my entire life I’d ever thanked anyone in person while completely naked.

Afterwards, I relaxed in one of the hot baths surrounded by many other Korean women, all either socializing with friends or on their own, probably after work, hoping to unwind from a long day at the office. I thought about how strange it would be to be naked in a hot bath with my female colleagues back at home if this were part of our culture. I could never imagine that happening, ever.

Then, I rejoined Chris in the meeting room to prepare for the saunas, which are for both sexes. He appeared relaxed and clean and had a stunned look on his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been bathed by anyone since I was a child — and that was by my dad! He even scrubbed around my penis!”

On our first full day in Seoul, we walked over 44,000 steps and saw a huge chunk of the sights on the travel list I made for us, including the Seoul City Gate, where we expended a lot of energy and a great number of those steps, and where Chris drenched his entire shirt in sweat.

Everywhere we went, we were running into Tous Les Jours and Paris Baguette bakeries, both Korean chains that are found in New York City (Paris Baguette has expanded so much to the point where it has at least four locations just in Manhattan now). We popped into one or two of them just to see if they were any different from the ones back home, and they were pretty much the same — except the prices were about 1/4 or 1/5 of what we are expected to pay in New York. I was surprised to see the pastries priced at 1,000 won (that’s less than $1 USD); it was like being in a Chinese bakery in Manhattan Chinatown. While in New York, we may think of these pastries as “fancy,” here, they are just everyday pastries for everyday people, and people aren’t paying an arm and a leg for their sweet potato bun or their milk bread.

I considered buying a milk bread loaf and bringing it back to the U.S. just to be able to bring back the same product for cheaper. Chris says he won’t allow it. Oh well.

After waiting in the longest immigration line I’ve ever had to queue up in entering another country, we took the airport express into Seoul, dropped our bags off at our hotel, and set out to enjoy our first evening in Korea.

“What do you want to eat tonight — barbecue or fried chicken?” Chris asked.

Fried chicken. Yum.

We went to Han Chu, supposedly one of the best Korean fried chicken restaurants in the city, which is in the Garou-sil area (“tree-lined street) south of the river. There was English on the menu, but I wasn’t sure whether to get the “fried” chicken or the “seasoned” chicken. Fearing the chicken labeled only “fried” wouldn’t be seasoned that well, I got us the seasoned chicken and a bottle of soju. The soju bottle, enough for the both of us, only cost 5,000 won. No wonder Korea has a crazy drinking culture; the alcohol is so cheap!

When the chicken came to the table, it was piping hot and obviously freshly fried. It was coated in a dark, sticky, and thick red sauce topped with white sesame seeds. The batter was thicker than the Korean fried chicken I’d had back in New York, and the batter was seasoned more heavily, as well, with a darker brown color as opposed to the golden color I was so used to seeing.

I was curious about the fried chicken styles and found out after some quick research that there’s no real “Korean fried chicken style” — different places have different recipes and thickness of the batter. Some are heavier the way Southern fried chicken back home is (especially the ones being sold by street vendors I’ve seen in Myeongdong), while others are lighter like the Bonchon and Unidentified Flying Chicken Korean chicken I’d had in New York. The Bonchon or Kyochon style Korean fried chicken is the type that’s made it to the U.S. But this made me realize that what I consider to be Korean fried chicken isn’t the same fried chicken that Koreans in Korea consider their own fried chicken — these are the things you learn when you travel.