In Which I Break Bread with a Monk

... Or, Remember That Umbrella?

So now for the most interesting and amazing part of this story.

Paul and I are on our way back to the car from our hike, and I mentioned we needed to return the monk's umbrella.  When Paul tells this story, he starts it with, "You know Holly.  She can't just leave the umbrella on the porch."  Of course not!  How then could I thank him? 

So I knock on the door to return the umbrella.  The door is answered by a woman, who looks at us quizzically.  I start explaining the umbrella to her in a language I know she doesn't understand, using the universal "Here.  Take it!" gesture.  Soon after, she is pushed out of the way by the very inebriated monk, and he pulls me into the room.  Paul follows, not sure if he's invited, but pretty certain that he'll be relieved of his command if his battle buddy is abducted by a monk in a town for which he still does not know the name.

Inside, the woman who answered the door and another older woman are standing in a kitchen area.  There are two small tables.  One has a bottle of Soju on it.  The other is occupied by a young monk.  (He is eating in the traditional style of eating while seated on the floor.)  I assume that the younger of the two women was our friend's wife, but not one person in the house spoke English.  The daughter was no where to be seen.  The monk is tripping a little (Soju is quite potent).  He says something to the younger monk and literally takes a piece of watermelon out of his hand and gives it to me.  He gestures for me to sit on the floor at the other table with him, then takes the rest of the other monk's food off of his table and sets it in front of Paul and me.  We protested that we did not need to eat, and we just wanted to thank him for his umbrella.  The monk continued to talk nonstop in Korean and we politely smiled, nodded, and tried to leave, but he would not have it.  He put his arm around me and continues to speak to the women.  Again, it is a little like a kid bringing home stray animals.  So Paul and I sit.  The women bring more food to the tiny table--Nurungji (scorched rice), tofu, and of course, kimchi.  Then the monk says something to the women and they begin searching for something in the kitchen.  Paul and I are protesting that we have plenty, but the wife leaves the room.  She returns quickly with... two bananas.  The monk beams as if he's just won a prize. 

By now the other monk is gone (since we stole his dinner), and our tiny table is so full that I am literally holding my banana in one hand and peel in the other, and the monk is clearly encouraging me to try the Nurungji.  I juggle and taste and decide Nurungji is a little too dry and crunchy for me, but he smiles eagerly and practically feeds me until I have finished what is on my plate.  He is clearly having a wonderful time.  The soju is still flowing, and Paul is trying to drink as little as possible so that he doesn't pass out on the ride home.  It is a good thing I am female because I could politely decline the soju.  It would be pretty rude for Paul to decline, so he took small sips and I knew I'd be driving home.

After at least two hours in his home, we are able to take our leave.  By now, the monk needs a little help walking and we insist that he does not need to walk us to our car.  But we (and by that I mean I) have had a wonderful time and clearly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

 

I'm not sure if the Army was using that map as a training tool, purposefully getting people lost and improving skills and confidence as people made their way back home, or if they just thought no one would actually venture that far off-post (a very real possibility as I was surrounded by people who had been in Korea for almost a year and had not been outside of Seoul). Either way, Paul and I got to be much closer friends in the way that you can only do with shared experiences, and we arrived home with a once-in-a-lifetime story, still determined to find the elusive Land of 10,000 Budhas.