Weak Ankle

Reporting in from Seoul, South Korea. I've flown here for the weekend--Halloween weekend--to visit my high school friend, Andrew Brenfoerder, who lives here now, and who has graciously lent me the floor of his 6x12 foot bedroom for a few days. Floors are almost always heated in Korea, though, I discovered, and so with some down comforters it makes for a cozy arrangement.

Tonight I'm on my own while Andrew is on a date. I decided to venture out from the Hongdae district where he lives--a yuppie, university neighborhood full of hip shops, cafes, knit scarves and skinny jeans that reminds me of Portland, Oregon--and try to find my way back to the Hong River, where we went for a run this afternoon. Specifically, I wanted to stop and see the shrine of some Korean martyrs set up there.

I got lost. The route takes you through a darker, less populated part of Seoul, and I couldn't find the open path through the maze of apartment complexes and convenience stores to the riverfront. Fortunately, I found a couple of coffee shops where I could stop to ask for directions. The first barista I tried spoke only one word of English: "Sorry." The second place I stopped, a brightly decorated spot that's reminiscent of a childhood nursery, the barista spoke only a few words more. But she tried her best. We scratched out some words on a pad of paper. A lightbulb went on. She took me outside and pointed down the street, making an arm-pumping walking motion: "you long (legged, I assumed). Maybe five minutes?" Then she bent her wrist to the left. "Left turn?" I asked. She nodded. "Hill," she said. "Church on the hill?" I asked. She nodded happily.

On my walk back from the shrine, my ankle started to hurt. I remembered turning it during my run earlier, and supposed that this was just delayed payoff. I decided to stop back at the nursery-land cafe for a rest.

That's where I am now, surveying the remains of a good cappuccino, and a "sweet pumpkin tart," which the barista worked very hard to be able to pronounce in English when I asked her about food.

It's chilly outside, but warm in here. I've got a whimsical, wonderful novel, The Once and Future King, with me. I'm lonely, but also happy. This weekend is All Hallows' Eve, one of my favorite times, a time to glut on ghosts and black cats and spells and skeletons and all things dark and macabre and spooky. Then to know that all these vanish as the sun rises on November 1, because we are not left alone.