A trip to the south coast for mama's birthday

We drove down to Yeosu and Namhae on the southern edge of the Korean peninsula.

A note: I think of these “dispatches” as letters to my friends and family. These are meant to be casual. You can always just hit reply to the email or leave a comment if you want to write me back.

Last week was Nammin’s birthday. It was a big one, so we went on a road trip. We drove for about four hours before we stopped for lunch in Jeonju, the first South Korean city I lived in, nearly 20 years ago. If you would have told me then I would be back one day to eat lunch with my 3-year-old daughter I would have said, “Have another shot of soju.” 

We ate bowls of my favorite soup — galguksu — at the place I loved when I was young and single and had so many big choices left to make. When I thought everything was still up to me to decide. I took a picture of the soup and sent it to a friend who had lived here then, and he asked if I was planning to put down two bowls like we used to. Back when we did a lot we don’t do anymore. Jia will never know that version of me, and I probably won’t ever again, either.

The tourists were wearing rented traditional robes in the old village. Something that didn’t happen when I lived there, back when Jeonju was only known for its food but wasn’t on the international K-pop/K-drama tour circuit.

Then farther south, over the admiral’s bridge and through the industrial complex, where the steel-making factories are painted in bright primary colors and signs proclaim how green the companies are. The campuses go on and on, with long streets of smoke stacks and careening trucks and mazes of twisted and intersecting pipelines.

We checked into a small hotel with a heated rooftop pool that no one else was using. We put Jia in a lifejacket, and let go of her in water too deep to touch. I wish I could describe the sound of joy that came from her when she understood she wouldn’t sink, that she could float in the water. She was scared but brave, and we stayed close to her as shrieked in delight and unbridled laughter. Pure happiness for both her and us — almost like watching her learn to walk. “Happy birthday, mama!” she said so many times during this trip.

As it got dark a full moon emerged over the bay, and white lights shone on the cable cars. A ferry boat lit up in rainbow colors passed below, and we could hear a violinist struggling to hit the notes. But we didn’t listen too closely to that — we had the best sound we’d ever hear floating in a lifejacket in front of us.

In the morning, we went to the town square to find the town’s special donuts. Is it true that every culture has some type of fried dough dusted with sugar? I can’t think of a cuisine that doesn’t have them, my Volga-German culture included. (If you know you know grebel.) Some of these Yeosu donuts were filled with yuzu cream — the other non-cream-filled ones weren’t too far from what my grandma used to make.

We skipped the line for the strawberry mochi and went to another smaller island where we took an elevator to the top of a lighthouse. In the observatory, Jia rode her kickboard scooter around in circles and said, “This is a nice place.” Out in the water we could see the shipping vessels lined up for the industrial complex and the colored dot patterns of shellfish and seaweed farms.

That evening we checked into the Ramada hotel. Jia was less nervous at the pool this time but just as joyful. “Happy birthday, mama!”

We woke up to overcast skies but still tried to visit a sheep farm that doubled as a petting zoo until we got rained out. To salvage the day, we drove to the German village in Namhae. For lunch, we ate schnitzel, spaetzle, and goulash and stopped at the bakery for fig and rye bread and pastries. My family is a different kind of German than this, but the food all seemed legit. And these types of places always taste a little better when you’re in East Asia.

We checked into the last lodging for the trip, a guest house with a view of the sea on three sides. We fell asleep with a lighting storm strobing the white curtains on the windows.

With a new day came clear skies. We drank tea and coffee on the deck and watched the fishermen checking their farms in their small boats. “Happy birthday, mama!” I thought about how I’d had so many birthdays without my own child to wish me happiness, and how grateful I was to have it now.

On the way out of town, we stopped at the German bakery again for soft pretzels, sauerkraut, mustard, and sausages before driving to the beach, where only a couple of other kids played in the surf. Jia let the small waves chase her into shore, and it was warm enough to swim in the sea in mid-October. 

What I’m reading: I’ve been working through the books I brought with me that are on the New York Times’ list of 100 best books of the 21st Century. At least the ones I hadn’t read when that list came out. I knocked out Elena Ferrante’s “My Brilliant Friend” and Min Jin Lee’s “Pachinko.” Currently reading Denis Johnson’s “Tree of Smoke.”

What I’m listening to: I finally found a way into Billy Strings. The new record “Highway Prayers” is good bluegrass, country and folk. Christian Lee Hutson’s “Paradise Pop. 10” has a real Rilo Kiley/Elliott Smith feel, if less anguished. And “Two Star & The Dream Police” by Mk.gee might be too cool for me, but I’m trying.