OK folks, while looking over my last update I found it to be a little negative. I'm sorry about that. I get depressed from time to time and it colors my world a little darker than it really is. The weekend really went quite well, all told.

Sunday morning I met In-Hye, one of the Korean teachers, at Kosin University for our weekly Korean lesson. In return I help her with her conversational English (which is already pretty good) and pronunciation. Yeoung-do island is like San Francisco topographically speaking, and Kosin is at the top of a hill at the foot of the mountain. In part to justify my addiction to cheesy dankas I walked the murderous climb to Kosin.

By the time I reached Kosin my theighs burned with lactic acid and my lungs couldn't get enough of the thick Korean air. In-hye was all smiles as she greeted me at the gate, a thick Bible clutched to her chest (she goes to church after our lesson). We climbed up a flight of stairs to a second story auditorium-style classroom crammed with so many desks that we had to climb our way to the blackboard.

It was a productive lesson. I learned to count to ten, twice, as Korean has two systems for counting: The pure Korean numbers and the Chinese-Korean numbers. In-Hye and I also made a script for ordering Korean food.

"Annyong Haseyo?" Hello, how are you?
"Ne. Annyong Haseyo, chal chinessoyo?" Good. I'm fine, how are you?"
"Ne. Ne. Wmo Issoyo?" Good, good. What would you like?"
"Hana cheesy dankas hago chubaek kimch'i mani juseyo" One order of cheesy dankas and alot of cabbage Kimch'i please."

After the lesson I went to lunch and tried out my new skills on the ajumma (waitress), who was impressed and I noticed a marked improvement on the service.

Monday was Korean Foundation day, or Ketungjer (literally, "Open Sky Day"). I threw on some clothes, tied up my shoes and filled a water bottle before hiking up the mountain behind Hamjigreen. The going is steep, rocky and worn by the passage of many Korean feet.

Koreans love to hike, and I love the Koreans that much more for this reason alone. They respect their mountains, the ridges and slopes gloriously free of development. One only finds the elegant Buddhist temples on the mountains' treacherous slopes. Today the trails were alive with Koreans from all over Busan, climbing along the paths adorned in the regal attire of day hikers: Columbia pants and Gore-tex jackets, North Face packs and CamelBak water pouches, glorious leather Italian boots and Smartwool socks. They talked as they slowly traversed the ridge, pausing at intervals to drink water and take in the view.

I ran across a group of six old friends from a Baptist Church near Seomyeon. Koreans never stray far from their home, and these men had been friends since kindergarten. One of them, a man named Cheong, Bok-Hyun, spoke flawless English and he and I talked as we walked the ridge. He was an English teacher at a local girl's high school, as were two other of his friends. Another man was the director of the MRI unit at Busan Medical Center and yet another was an administrator at the Department of Public Health. One of the friends was in the process of learning English, and one of his primary tools were the hymns he sang in church. In a deep baritone, he sang a beautiful version of "Amazing Grace" as we decended from the mountain, reminding me of a soldier's funeral I covered in Benndale, Mississippi.

After the hike down the six old friends bought me lunch and chatted as best they could in English. I was surprised to learn that Koreans start counting their lives from the moment of conception. When Koreans enter this world they are already one year old!

I was honored by the friends' hospitality and I wished them well as they caught cabs back to their lives on the other side of the city. I reveled in the chance to practice Korean as well as help them perfect their English. I felt like it was the right thing to do on Foundation Day.