A recurrent theme in my Korean experience is the trouble folks seem to have with something outside the norm. This can be difficult to spot at first because it's rarely malicious. It most often manifests in amazement or humor. After nearly 8 months here Koreans still marvel that I can use chopsticks with any proficiency. I'm met with playful laughter anytime I utter a syllable of Korean.

But one bright red example yesterday might throw this phenomenon into the daylight for those of you who've never visited an Asian culture before.

It's gotten warm here; highs are in the 80s F some days including this past weekend. So Sunday morning I went to the beach for the first time this year, where I managed to get a rather crimson suntan.

On Monday, four different Koreans commented on my brighter than usual pigment. They were each embarrassed for me; not because I stood out like a cherry tomato in a field of corn, but because I'd gone to the beach at all.

"Nobody goes to the beach in May!" one teacher said to me. A friend at the gym just kept laughing, again not at my appearance, but because I'd visited a place strictly reserved for summer in his mind. "People go to the beach in July," he explained matter-of-factly.

I tried to arguing, saying that it was plenty warm and sunny for a beach outing, even if the water was frigid. "Why shouldn't I go to the beach if the weather is nice?" I asked.

More than one of my interrogators rebutted, "Were there many people there?"

"No, not really," I answered truthfully. There had been a few dozen people engaging in various beach activities.

But my Korean friends took this as proof positive that I'd managed some terrible social faux pas. In their minds, the sparse beach population was clear evidence that going there during the month of May, no matter the weather, was a radical act, best left to the homeless and senile.

It's kind of sweet in some ways. They wanted to protect me from what they see as me making a fool of myself. But I want a tan, and frankly, I'm happy to have the beach to myself.

As I've noted in earlier posts, many Koreans know at least a handful of English words and phrases, even if they're usually too self-conscience to say them aloud. But when they do expound one of these manufactured, tourist-friendly idioms, it's usually either endearing or uncomfortable. My most recent encounter was the latter.

I was using the urinal at my school when another young male teacher entered the bathroom. In typical westerner fashion, I kept my eyes down and made no acknowledgment of another human being in the room.

But my newly arrived companion for this bladder-evacuation expedition wasn't familiar with these unwritten public bathroom rules. Standing two stalls away from me he unzipped, began his business and then turned to me with a smile.

"How is the weather today?" he asked.
Since he was actually closer to the window than I was and therefore in a better position to judge the weather, I assumed he meant something closer to, 'isn't the weather nice today,' so I replied, "It's very nice," and again diverted my eyes away.

But I could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of my head. So I eventually turned to look at him again hoping I could give him a smile and a nod and he'd turn back to his own affairs.

Smiling again, although now with a devilish curl at the corners of his mouth he said, "You must be careful." Having finished what he set out to do, he turned and walked out of the bathroom without another word.

Was this a clairvoyance's helpful fortune telling? Or a local crime syndicate warning me to play ball or face the consequences? Needless to say, I washed my hands thoroughly before returning to work.

I've always been sensitive about my weight and in that sense coming to Korea was a huge mistake. Koreans are small people in all sorts of ways -- particularly their waistlines.

Case-in-point, the film "200 Pound Beauty" which we were required to watch as part of our Korean educational training. It was an extraordinarily popular romantic comedy about a large young woman with an amazing singing voice. Because she was fat, the record producer (who she was secretly in love with) has a slimmer woman lip sync the large one's songs. Eventually, the large girl has all kinds of plastic surgery making her just as skinny and beautiful as the lip syncer. Great story, eh? Did I mention that the fat girl is a phone sex worker in her spare time?

But the comedy in the movie is almost completely surrounds this 200-pound girl; a weight unimaginable for most Koreans, especially for a woman. While 200-pounds is heavy, the physical comedy in this film would make you think the character was played by the mother in "What's Eating Gilbert Grape." There are your standard jokes like a chair breaking under the girl's weight, and some really extraordinary moments such as four men failing to jointly lift this woman on a stretcher.

And it's not relegated to the movie screen. Nearly every day my students, the people at my gym or some Korean I know looks at or pats my stomach and either sighs with disgust or asks me, "Why?"

What I want to tell them is that any extra weight around my middle is a product of Korean culture, not despite of it. Koreans gorge at meals, eating what I'd assume are 1000-2000 calories in a single sitting. And they aren't even particularly healthy calories; mostly things like white rice, grilled meat, fried bread and lots and lots of sugary alcohol.

One man suggested that Koreans have a longer intestinal track than Westerners and can therefore process food better. But I know I've read that Koreans also suffer more ulcers than most because of all the spice they consume.

Long story short, one of these days I'm going to deck someone who pats my belly.

I am not the Buddha!

... yet.