A Fortress Guarding Beef Ribs

Although Korea is a small country and you can find the same cuisine across the nation, each province or city prides itself on one specific dish.  In the case of Suwon, South Korea its famous meal is sogalbi (beef ribs).  I traveled 30 minutes outside of Seoul with Korean friend, Mrs. Hoa, to meet her former professor, Mr. Cho, now a dear friend, in Suwon, who wasted no time in taking us to the most famous restaurant in the city.

Suwon's sogalbi stands out from the rest of the country's because of its sweet and savory marinade.  Approaching the restaurant I could see giant pots of fermenting kimchi (a Korean staple made of spicy cabbage), amidst several interesting sculptures.  Upon walking inside, soybean meal was drying in preparation of spicy soybean stew.

As usual in Korean restaurants, our table was already donned with numerous pancheon (side dishes).  Our grill was filled with burning wood and a pile of raw seasoned cow was presented.  While our meat BBQ'd we sampled all the sides, but I was saving room for the main event.

Mr. Cho enjoying the meal.

If you are familiar with steak, you should know that simple is always better.  The meat should be able to stand alone.  The ribs were flash grilled and among the most juicy and tender cuts I've ever had.  The Suwon marinade provided a wonderful presence, but never overshadowed the meat itself.  No wonder this dish is the city's pride and joy!  


Since we planned to visit Hwaseong Palace after lunch, I was given a bit of information about King Jeongjo and his reign.  Of course, a royal tale must begin with a tragedy.  Jeongjo was preceded as king by his grandfather, not his father as you may have guessed.  Jeongjo's father, Prince Sado, was killed by royal decree after failing to follow orders to commit suicide: a lose-lose situation.  If you know how a monarchy works, you might be putting together that orders are given by the king, who happened to be the prince's father, so Prince Sado was sentenced to death by his own dad.  Still following?  There's a bit of controversy as to the cause for Prince Sado's execution (most claim the reason was Sado's insanity), but the effect is pretty straightforward: the crowned prince was locked into a rice chest on a hot July day and starved until his death 11 days later.  Yikes!  It was at this point that our server came to ask if we would like to finish our meal with rice or noodles.  I practically yelled, "NOODLES!!!" and our cold ramyeon, buckwheat noodles, were delivered immediately.

Chunks of ice keep the buckwheat noodles cold and chewy.  Don't knock it until you try it.  It's delicious. 

After lunch, we made our way to Suwon's main attraction: Hwaseong Fortress.  The ancient structure was commissioned by King Jeongjo in the late 1700s in the hopes the capitol of Korea would be moved from Seoul to Suwon.  The almost four-mile wall took just over two years to complete and most of the workers were paid in rice. Had the workers been paid in Suwon beef ribs, maybe I'd be writing about an eight-mile wall in the new capital of Korea. 


All jokes aside, Hwaseong Fortress is a beautiful and substantial work of architecture.  Designed by a renowned architect in his time, it is one of the first structures built in Korea with the use of pulleys and cranes. Doesn't sound impressive now, but it was modern technology then and a huge deal.  One of my favorite parts about living in Korea is seeing the mixture of the distant past with modern day. It creates an interesting perspective being within the ancient walls while contemporary skyscrapers stand just beyond. 

Despite the traffic and modern surroundings, I was still able to imagine the days of yore. All along the way were various cutouts from the wall for the appropriate weaponry.  See if you can guess which kinds of armory were used at each opening.

After strolling the length of the wall's western section, and visualizing medieval defenses, it was time to put our real life skills to the test and try our hands at archery. We collected a bow, 10 arrows, and a few tips for form and technique and then it was time to attack.  Of my 10 arrows, I was able to make only three stick in the target board.  It looks so much easier and cooler in the movies.

We made our way over to the palace just in time for the performance displaying ancient fighting techniques.  The king appointed a special weaponry artist to develop new forms of defense specific to Suwon and Hwaseong Fortress.  Maybe that's how they guarded the secret ingredient of Suwon sogalbi.

An ancient rice box.

It was finally time to see what Hwaseong Fortress was protecting: the palace.  You haven't forgotten the tragic rice chest story, have you?  Once inside the palace, it was hard not to remember Prince Sado's gruesome demise.  Those rice boxes were everywhere!  It really added a spooky atmosphere.   

Despite his father's controversial murder, King Jeongjo assumed the throne with pride. He commissioned the fortress to honor his father's memory and appointed his mother, Prince Sado's widow, as queen dowager.  Even though King Jeongjo was married and succeeded by a son, his wife and son seemed to play a very small role in the king's life.  The queen dowager, his mother, was more of a presence throughout our tour of the palace.  Below is a representation of a royal banquet the king held in honor of his mother where 12 appetizers, 70 main dishes, and 42 flower decorations were presented.  I think it’s safe to say that King Jeongjo was a total mama’s boy. 

On the left, the queen dowager in her lavish quarters, while her son, the king, sits in his modest room.

To round off an already amazing day, we decided to relax with a cappuccino and some honey bread, a popular Korean dessert, at a quaint cafe in downtown Suwon before heading back to Seoul.  Thick and chewy bread is warmed, drizzled in honey, sprinkled with cinnamon, and topped with whipped cream.  It was the best way to end our full day in Suwon.

Olango, Philippines: "The Most Beautiful Place in the World"

During my winter break in February, and after a visit from my lovely parents, I took a few of my leftover vacation days to make a quick trip to the Philippines.  That sentence in itself is already awesome, no?  “A quick trip to the Philippines?  Sure, I can do that.” 

Security at Cebu's airport.  

The Philippines are composed of 7,000 islands, so planning my trip was no easy feat.  It was hard to get started.  After careful research, and a lot of blog-reading, I chose a tiny “resort” on the lesser-known island of Olango, near Cebu City.  “Resort” in this case meant there was a restaurant on site.  Getting to the island from Cebu's tiny airport required a quick taxi ride through the city and then a private 30-minute boat ride from the dock. 

My home for three days was Talima Beach Resort.  The place itself was very quaint and simple, but the natural tropical beauty added several bonus points. 

I was greeted with a fresh coconut.

The Wi-Fi extended only about three feet from the kitchen, so it felt good to disconnect and spend some time in solitude for a few days.  The five other guests at the resort were all on their own schedules, so the only people I really saw were the welcoming staff.  They were friendly and laid back, but still professional.  I never got used to being called, “ma’am” during my stay, but I didn’t mind hearing each morning, “What time would you like your massage?” 

Left: Talima's restaurant and lounging huts; Right: the resort pool and bar.

My humble room complete with a mosquito-netted bed, and my personal patio on the right.  

Upon arriving on the island, I had expected to be able to buy sunscreen at the resort, but their humble amenities didn’t allow a place for a convenience store.  My options: avoid the sun (during my tropical vacation!?) or ride into town on the back of a stranger’s motorbike.  You’re familiar with the expression, “When in Rome…”  In this case, “When on Olango….”

A local restaurant where sitting at a table costs extra.

I hopped on and held on for dear life as I caught my first glimpses of life in a third world country.  When you zoom past emaciated dogs, watch shoeless children play in the dirt, and buy sunscreen from a teenager balancing a newborn on her hip, all before heading back to your vacation resort, you can’t help but feel a little guilty.  However, something that kept the guilt at bay was noticing how content the people of Olango seemed to be.  Everyone wore a small smile, locals joked and laughed with each other (regardless of their relationship) and contrary to people in Seoul, no one was in a rush to get the day over with.  For me, it was the epitome of an escape from the daily grind I was used to. 

Talima's "Filipino Breakfast": two eggs, tocina (sweet pork),
coffee and toast.  (Notice how they brought the toaster to my
table?  I could toast the bread at my convenience.  Brilliant!)

My first day on Olango, I felt a little anxiety with the amount of free time I had to spend alone; I actually asked the resort manager what I should do to which she responded with a chuckle, “Whatever you want.”  It didn’t take long, though, for me to relax and get comfortable with doing nothing.  My first day was spent being massaged, eating home-cooked meals, snorkeling, and alternating my book-reading/napping between the pool and an ocean-side lounge chair.  The staff of Talima had this way of making me feel like I held the power as a guest in their resort.  It was a little intimidating since being a boss is not in my nature. At the end of each meal, I was asked what time I wanted my next meal, and what they should prepare.  At one point, they even showed me the most expensive room at the resort where an employee told me to sit on the couch, fluffed my pillow, aimed a fan at me, pointed out the book shelf, and then left me to myself.  They had deemed me a temporary princess: “Bibbidi bobbidi boo!” 

My choice of views for book-reading and lounging.

My second day was by far the best day.  I had signed up for an island-hopping boat tour, which until I boarded the boat, didn’t realize was completely private.  I had reserved the whole boat to myself.  Only the captains were my company.  Before you think I’m actually a princess, I should explain the currency in the Philippines.  One Philippine Peso is equal to about two American cents.  To give you an idea of the price of an Olango beach resort, my meals were never more than $7, which is “expensive” by most Filipino standards.  Get the gist?

The boat crew from left to right: stowaway Jordan,
co-captains Armand and Keven.

Back to the boat tour: the co-captains were Keven and Armand (18 and 25 years old respectively).  Also joining the crew was 10-year-old stowaway, Jordan.  Jordan was a stranger to Keven and Armand; just a kid skipping school en lieu of a boat ride.  Armand and Jordan were both the silent types, speaking very little English and occasionally conversing in their native language of Tagalog, which sounds a lot like Spanish (Spanish was the official language of the Philippines for centuries until the 1900s).  Keven, however, spoke enough English to have simple conversations with. 

Keven peeling a whole lobster for lunch.

Keven and I shared one of those rare immediate bonds, where I felt inexplicably comfortable being at the mercy of a complete stranger in the middle of the ocean.  I thought of him as a brotherly friend right away.  While many Filipino people perceived my tourist status to mean I was privileged and filthy rich (I got asked my yearly salary more than once), Keven saw me as a portal to the world outside of Olango.  He was so curious about my life and more than happy to teach me about his. 

The colors of the water were breathtaking.

What surprised me during our boat tour were the “pirates.”  Not the sword-wielding, eye patch-wearing kind, the kind who boards your boat and engages in awkward small talk until you realize they’re waiting for money.  Sometimes they’re selling seashells or jewelry and sometimes they’re offering to take you for a ride in their makeshift paddleboat.  It only took two pirates before Keven and Armand started fending them off from afar, for my benefit.  I say “fending”, but they were probably just warning them not to waste their time.  Either way, I was grateful. 

After a couple hours on the boat, we all started lowering our

Taking a swimming break with Jordan.

guards.  It took some convincing, but I got them to stop calling me “ma’am” and call me by name.  By the second island, I persuaded them to join me in the water.  Even little Jordan was surprised at my offer and looked to the captains for permission.  Based on their hesitations, I’m going to guess they’ve never before socialized with guests of the resort.  We all tried something new that day: I fearlessly swam in the clearest ocean water I’ve ever seen, among hundreds of tropical fish that somehow never touched me despite their proximity.  Keven dove deep for starfish and Jordan did cannonballs off the boat.  Armand watched in amused silence while smoking cigarettes.  In a weird way, it all felt so normal. 

Keven diving and Jordan retrieving starfish.

On the way back to Olango, the boat got stranded at low tide.  All three boys jumped out to push the boat through the sand back to deep water.  Without thinking, I joined them in the water to help.  The sea was up to my knees, but you would have thought I was drowning with the amount of yelling that followed.  They were mortified at my attempt to help push.  Keven explained the risk of stepping on sea urchins and insisted I sit in the cockpit while they push the boat free, otherwise we’d have to wait an hour for high tide.  If you know me, you won’t be surprised to hear I followed his advice for about five minutes before sneaking off the back and pushing from behind.  Growing up with brothers has ingrained a need for keeping up with the boys.  When they noticed, we all laughed a bit and I stubbornly said, “If I can’t push, then no one can.”  So no one pushed.  We relaxed on the boat until high tide, drinking water, listening to music, Jordan showing off his Tagalog rapping skills.  It’s hard to explain the feeling I had in that moment, stuck at low tide, on a boat with people I’d met only hours prior, but I can tell you this: it’s the reason I travel.    

That evening I dined on traditional Filipino Chicken Adobo while I thought about the quick glimpses into Filipino culture I’d perceived that day on the boat.  My entire life I’ve only thought of a place like Olango as a vacation destination, never a place where people are born and grow up.  It somewhat baffled me that in a place like Olango, where even fresh water is scarce, no one really seemed worried or upset about their meager (to me) living conditions.  When I asked a few of the locals how they liked living on Olango, they answered with a slight indifferent “sure”, but no one ever answered in the negative.  I asked one man why he liked it, and he said, “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”  A bold statement from someone who’s never left the island. 

Olango locals see this view every day.

When I asked Keven, an 18-year-old boat captain what his plans for the future were, he said, “On Olango, there is no family planning, only family planting.”  He explained that the locals usually get married and have children very young.  Armand, the 25-year-old co-captain was already three kids deep in his marriage.  He and Armand had a great laugh over that and then we started talking about fish.  It was so bizarre to me that the future didn’t take precedence in their lives.  I’m a futuristic person by nature, but I also think my culture plays a big role in that.  Since college, and even a little in high school, the overwhelming question has been, “What am I going to do with my life?” 

Jordan's makeshift aquarium.

I was a little envious of Keven’s and Armand’s indifference of uncertainty, but then again, I don’t think they really have much choice due to poor currency, lack of resources, etc.  I wondered if all those things changed and they suddenly had more opportunities, would they choose to take them?  That got me thinking about Jordan, our 10-year-old stowaway.  He skipped school to spend a day on a boat, playing with fish in the water, catching one as a pet.  He’s probably never heard of video games or the Disney channel, but if it was available, would he still choose the boat?

A young Olango boy searching for shells and food.

In my eyes, the people of Olango envelop the idea we (in the first worlds) all strive to achieve which is being happy with what you already have.  Instead, we focus on the things we don’t have.  We’re either constantly working to obtain our next goal, or accepting what we’re “stuck with.”  Within less than three days on the island, I felt ashamed at the amount of material possessions I owned, and how many of them had taken priority in my life over the intangible.  In fact, right there at my finished plate of Chicken Adobo, I began to scheme a way to stay on the island long-term.  I considered working at the resort, tutoring English, joining the pirates.  Part of me was terrified I’d never figure out how to live an unhurried, worry-free, non-materialistic, satisfied life unless I lived on Olango.  Another part wanted to stay and discover in what ways the people of Olango were unsatisfied, worrisome, or materialistic.  Are these traits simply human-nature, or products of our cultures?

Talima's view at sunset; the lights of Cebu City in the distance.

My last day on the island was spent much like the first: book reading, pool dipping, fish eating.  A company from Cebu City was having a staff gathering at Talima, so for the first time during my stay, the resort was pretty busy.  By busy I mean loud and entertaining; the staff still carried their laid back, content demeanor.  To get a break from the noise, I decided to explore the ocean at low tide with Keven and Armand.  Since it was winter, the water was already at a lower level than usual, so at low tide, the whole ocean floor about three feet from shore was visible for a couple hours a day.  There is so much to see!  Growing up far away from the ocean, I assumed touching anything would result in a sting or a trip to the hospital.  Keven and Armand, however, were experts in ocean floor dwellers.  They fearlessly scooped up everything to give me a closer look while pointing out the few things I shouldn’t touch. 

Can you spot the starfish?

While most of what Keven showed me in the ocean was deemed “good for grill”, I took the whole low tide expedition as a much more meaningful metaphor.  (Surprised?)  When the ocean is at high tide, it’s easy to forget all the life, giant and miniscule, that exists because I can’t see it.  Even at low tide, it’s easy to miss the motionless creatures, but I start to realize they’re there.  Sometimes it takes someone else, like Keven, to point it out and show it up close.  It hit me that staying on Olango wouldn’t magically give me the key to a satisfied life.  As an outsider, I had been looking at Olango locals the way I looked at the ocean at high tide: on the surface.  To me, they seemed completely satisfied with their lives, but if I scratched the ocean floor, I would most likely learn of their worries or discontent.  Even if I didn’t, I could never achieve satisfaction by trying to live someone else’s way of life.  One person’s dream life could be another’s nightmare.

I’ve decided that there is no single key to happiness for me; my keys are dispersed around the world amidst places, people, and things.  As long as I’m exploring, discovering, and learning, I’m happy.  As I said before, this is why I travel.