An Unidentifiable Feast

Ah. Back at Mike's. I met him at my subway station earlier and we walked back to my place. I took him to the little market in my neighborhood and we bought a few things, then headed back to my flat. We both see upsides and downsides with both of our locations. Mike's apartment is much nicer, but a lot smaller. His neighborhood is sort of more metropolitan -- mine is smaller and more intimate. He has fewer hills, but more traffic noise.

I don't think he grasped the awesomeness of the cliff leading up to my flat until he saw it for himself. And had to carry our groceries up it. 

We sat at my kitchen table for a while looking aimlessly through my guidebooks, discussing lesson plans and making shopping lists while we cooked ramen -- which is much better and considered real food here. We took turns eating because I only have one set of chopsticks, which, I'm happy to report, we are both mastering quite well. 

When we were walking back to the subway to come back here to his place, some of my students were running past on the sidewalk. "Elisabeth! Elisabeth! Elisabeth!" I have no idea how this kid already knows my name, but I think he's the same one who shouted down the hall after me yesterday. I stopped and said hi and he said my name a few more times, waved and smiled, and ran away. The other two with him just stood there looking pure stunned. 

My washing machine plays a song when it's finished. And so does my door when I unlock it. 

We spent the afternoon trying to sort out how to make Mike's washing machine work and watching robot soccer on tv. Now we're going to head out to the market for a few things and possibly venture into a restaurant to humiliate ourselves. We were talking today about how stupid we feel all the time, but how we're getting used to it. 

We've decided we're going to write a version of An Movable Feast for S. Korea and call it An Unidentifiable Feast. We're comic geniuses. 

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