The one in Klagenfurt was held at the Schleppe Brewery, and it was a typical Oktoberfest: liter beers, men wearing lederhosen and women wearing dirndls, people dancing and standing on tables, and meeting the friendly Austrians at our table, speaking to them in a mixture of English and bad German.

Eventually, we decided to leave. My friend worked in the area, so she took us on a shortcut, down a small unlit street, bypassing the busy main road.

The next morning, I woke up in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown – the sun was shining, the bed was comfy and warm, and I felt pretty good. I got up to use the restroom, and discovered both my knees were bruised and scraped. In the mirror, I discovered a large, white, bloody bandage in the middle of the forehead. I somehow had a vague recollection of being there, so I didn’t freak out. Or perhaps I was just so confused, that I wasn’t able to be confused. I noticed two orange pills next to my bed in a plastic cup with my name on it, so I took them.

The nurse noticed I was awake, and said I could go home, but just to let them know first. I asked where my clothes were, and was told they were in a cupboard next to the bed. I found them stuffed into a plastic bag along with an unfamiliar wool coat. Everything was covered in vomit. My dress and cardigan weren’t too disgusting, so I put them on. I was happy to see my boots were intact and vomit-free, and I put them on as well. There was an envelope with my name on it, so I picked it up.

I wandered into the hallway, carrying the plastic bag and the envelope, and walked toward a reception desk. I asked the nurse if I’d had a handbag with me, but she said everything was in the plastic bag. I asked how to get home – I wasn’t familiar with the hospital, or the street it was on. Another nurse mentioned I could take the bus to Heiligengeistplatz, which is near my apartment, but I had no money for a bus. They asked if I knew anyone’s phone number, but as I didn’t have my cell phone, I did not. They asked if I’d come by myself, or alone. I thought I’d arrived with my friend (although I had no actual memories of this), and gave them her name, but they didn’t find any record of her in the computer.

I started feeling light headed, so I crossed the hallway to an empty chair and sat down. I asked the nurse if I could sleep more, and she said I couldn’t say overnight again. I clarified that I just wanted to sleep for a couple hours, and she said that would be fine. I didn’t know where to go, however, so I just kept sitting there.

After a bit the nurse walked back over and handed me a 10 Euro bill and said they’d called a taxi. The taxi driver came into the hospital to get me, and I walked out leaning on his arm. He was very nice, and we chatted a bit – he’d been to the US several times, and his daughter was studying there. When we reached my building, he walked me to the door, where I buzzed my room, hoping my roommate was home. She was, and the driver walked me up to my room.

I walked in to the apartment, where my roommate and her friend were having breakfast. She asked me what had happened, and when I said I didn’t know, we all started laughing. It had never occurred to me to ask the nurses why I was there. I handed her the envelope, which I’d discovered contained a doctor’s summary, and she read it, and apparently found it amusing. I’m sure my roommate assumed I knew what it said, and again, I didn’t think to ask. I’d tried to read it before, but wasn’t able to concentrate, and it didn’t help that half the words were German (and Latin!) medical terms. So I still didn’t know anything.

Eventually, I wandered into my bedroom, where I found my wallet and my phone, which I hadn’t brought with me to the festival. I called one of the friends I’d been with the night before, and asked if she knew where my bag was. She told me that she and her roommate had my bag and my camera. Then I asked her why I was in the hospital.

And she told me. I’d been walking along, very happy, and started running down the street. All of a sudden, I wasn’t running anymore. It was so dark, it wasn’t immediately clear why, but coming closer, my friends could see I’d tripped and fallen down some stairs. My head was covered in blood, and the two guys we were with carried me off to go find some help. The paramedics at the festival called an ambulance and began bandaging my head, but I kept ripping it off. My friend and I rode in the ambulance to the hospital, where they took CT scans and checked me out. The nurses instructed my friend to keep me where I was, because I kept trying to wander off. I was insisting that I was fine, and that I just wanted to go home and go to sleep. Eventually they must have put me to bed, where I woke up the next morning.

I later figured out from my doctor’s summary that I had a concussion and two stitches on my head, but luckily no fractures on my skull and no ‘fresh’ fractures on my knee. Apparently my knee has fractures from before?

Sunday night my forehead swelled up in the middle, and the next day was still a bit swollen. Monday I was showing the beginnings of a black eye, and Tuesday morning I woke up to a half-shut, red, puffy, left eye. I iced it and the swelling went down throughout the day. It took me two weeks before I got my energy back, and while my head no longer hurts, there is a scar, and my knee hurts even now.

I mentioned that I definitely wanted to do the golden circle tour at some point, and the receptionist said, “There’s a bus outside! Do you want to go now?” So I ran outside, paid the driver, and off we went. Luckily the bag I’d grabbed had my camera and some snacks – it also however had my laptop charger, my makeup bag, and other useless items.

The bag did not have my umbrella or rain jacket. At one point toward the end of the tour, the wind and the rain were so bad you could hardly see out the bus windows, and we still had a couple stops left. I would have been completely soaked, save for a fellow traveler’s extra poncho.

Not the best weather.

Returning from the tour, we decided to go to a local swimming pool. After the pool, around 8pm, we returned to the hostel and cooked dinner. I was falling asleep, but wasn’t about to go to bed hungry. Somehow it was almost 10:30pm by the time I got ready for bed – 4:30pm Minneapolis time, after a night of hardly any sleep.

I didn’t set an alarm, and let myself sleep as long as I wanted- which ended up being 12:30pm. A nice 14 hours of sleep – and I was still tired the next day!

1. Fly Icelandair to Europe and add a stopover in Iceland for no extra charge. Of course, this only works if you’re already going to Europe.

2. Stay at hostels with free wi-fi and kitchens – mine even had a communal food bin, for leftover cereal, bread, canned foods, etc. Watch out for extra fees for renting linens and towels.

3. Buy food at the supermarkets or eat hot dogs ($3 each).

4. To try new foods in smaller portions, go to the tapas bar. Not cheap, but 3 tapas for around $30 more than filled me up and I was able to try three foods I’d never had before – puffin, whale, and Icelandic foal. And they were delicious.

5. Go to restaurants for lunch instead of dinner. They often have specials. My lamb sandwich was enough for two meals and was under $10.

6. Walk everywhere.

7. Go to the local hot springs / swimming pools for under $5.

8. Take the free tour of the city.

9. Bring snacks from home for the plane ride and the rest of the trip.

You’ll need the extra cash to pay for all the awesome tours!

So, I arrive in Germany with about 8 Euros that were leftover from a previous trip. I use the majority of them to put my extra luggage in lockers at the train station, as I’d be staying in Frankfurt for a few days. I head out with my very heavy backpack (it had my computer in it) wearing rainboots – not the greatest walking shoes, I quickly find out. I couldn’t check in to my hotel until 2pm, and it was around 6am, so I thought I’d just wander around.

First thing to do – get some money. I go to an ATM, put in my card, enter my new password, and – nothing. I try other ATMs, smaller amounts, and same result. Great. Well, I had a roll and jam from the plane, and a bag of Goldfish crackers. They made for a tolerable picnic lunch later on.

I explore the city center, the shopping streets, and a large park before walking back to the hotel. I go to plug in my computer and realize the adapter I have is for European plugs to fit into US outlets, not the other way around. Oops. I go to a department store, where I know I can use a credit card, and buy another adapter.

Because of the time difference, I can’t call my parents – they’re at work. Or something. So I have my boyfriend call them for me, since I know he checks his email all the time and they rarely do. So, they go to the bank, and guess what? The card had never been activated. Argh.

So, for this time moving to Europe, you can imagine how pleased I was when I was able to get money on the first try in Iceland. The adapter plug, however… I brought one that worked for my phone and camera, but forgot to bring a three-pronged plug for my computer. I used my phone as a computer for several weeks before I was mailed a new plug from the states, as they don’t seem to exist here in Klagenfurt, at least, not the right kind.

All of the other teachers agreed, except one, who apparently knows a bit about nutrition.

My co-teachers retain these beliefs despite the fact that many of our students are overweight. Fried chicken, pizza, ice cream, and junky snack food have the same effect on people, whether or not they eat rice. Someday they’ll need to accept that yes, it is possible for Koreans to be fat, because my chubby students are larger than I am, and although I’m a small in the U.S., I often only fit into the largest size at Korean clothing stores.

I once gave my students a quiz to practice comparatives, and one question was “Which county is skinnier, India or Korea?”

Not a single student, in any of the 10 classes, answered India.

Me: “Yes, I did.”

My Principal: “What did you eat? Bread?”

Me: “Ummm….no. I had eggs.”

Most Koreans eat rice for EVERY MEAL, unless they’re eating at a western restaurant, which in many areas of Korea, is not very often. Whenever they cook food at home, there is rice. At school every day for lunch, there’s rice. Even if it’s spaghetti and garlic bread day, there is also rice.

Rice is such a staple that a common greeting is “did you eat rice?” The word ‘bab’ means both rice and a meal.

Many Koreans that I’ve talked to believe that bread is to Americans what rice is to Koreans. While Americans do eat bread often, we also have pasta, rice, and other grains. Bread is not an integral part of every meal. Americans won’t freak out if there is no bread on the table – at least, from my experience.

So, when answering their questions about what I eat, I get great satisfaction when I say, no, I did NOT have bread for (breakfast, lunch, dinner.) In fact, I ate (chicken salad, Indian curry…etc.).

Occasionally I’ll have actually eaten bread for breakfast (toast, for example) and then I hate answering their question because I don’t want to reinforce the idea that I always eat bread!

To add to the confusion, Koreans also have a very skewed idea of exactly what kind of bread we are supposedly always eating. Pastries and doughnuts are very popular, and even normal-looking loaves of bread are quite sweet. My co-teachers were confused when I explained the difference between bread and pastries, because in Korean there is no distinction. A good Korean meal would never contain bread, anyway- it’s seen as a snack food or dessert. So, basically Koreans are imagining Americans eating pastries with every meal. Which, for some people, I suppose is true…

In my classes, I try to conduct them as much like a Western class as possible, so that the students are not only learning English, but also learning cultural practices and a different way of thinking. Because of this (although, admittedly, primarily to help with behavior), the boys and girls are all mixed together in the classroom. Consequently, boys and girls often must work together in pairs or groups. At the beginning of the year, many students refused to work with the opposite sex. The Korean teachers also had to get used to the idea- they told me that boys and girls don’t work together, and that I shouldn’t make them. Once I explained my reasoning, however, they were supportive. Many of the students have become accustomed to it, but I still have some students who are uncomfortable, and a few students who absolutely refuse to work with their partner, just because they are of a different gender (and they have actually told me this, in front of the other students).

Age is also very important in Korean society, in both the workplace and personal life. The oldest son and his wife are always in charge of hosting on holidays; the oldest person in a group generally pays at dinner; and there are different words to address someone based on whether they are older or younger than you, even if the difference is only a year or two. In the workplace, the younger employee is expected to defer to the older one. My co-teacher feels like she is in a difficult position, because although she is the head of the English department, some of the other English teachers are older. There have occasionally been arguments between her and one of my more outspoken co-teachers, the former feeling it was her right to decide because of her position, and the latter because of her age.

My vice-principal confided in me yesterday that she has no one to share her feelings with at work. Her position and age mean she is not allowed to be friends with the teachers, even though until recently she was also a teacher. The principal is a man, so she doesn’t feel comfortable confiding in him, either. Apparently, as a foreigner, I am outside of the hierarchy, and this makes her comfortable talking to me as a friend, even though I am much younger.

It can be frustrating to always be seen as a outsider, but in these situations I’m always glad I am one.

The weirdest thing about Korea now? The fact that it’s not weird to me anymore. I particularly realized this when some new teachers moved to Korea and I spent time showing them around. They would say, what’s that? what’s that? And my response was always, “Oh, that’s just______, Koreans do that.” I still notice the crazy Konglish on signs, but its so normal. Not only do headbands with large bows on them seem normal, but I want to wear them now. Businessmen passed out on the street on a weeknight? Normal. Shop owners following me around in the stores? Normal. People drinking beer and eating ramen at tables outside of convenience stores? Normal. Sweet pickles served with Italian food? Normal. I’ve even learned to test a dab of every thick white substance served with Mexican food before diving in, because it’s usually yogurt, not sour cream.

The first time I went to Everland, it was a cultural experience to see the Korean take on Disney World. Recently I went back a second time, and it was just a fun day out riding the rides and seeing the animals in the zoo.

I’m worried I’ll end up bowing to everyone back in America, only handing over money with my right hand, and holding up a peace sign in every single picture. We’ll see.

Taking away the aluminum foil, I saw that I’d sliced into my pinky, starting from the second joint and going down to where it meets my hand, making a u-shaped flap of skin. I could see all the insides of my finger- blood, fat, skin. I calmly asked Marc if he had a band-aid, but he didn’t so I had to wrap it with a towel. After a minute or two, I decided that I should probably get stitches if I didn’t want a deformed hand. Luckily, Marc’s apartment is only a 5-minute walk from the Yongin Severance Hospital, and we took off, leaving the spinach on the stove.

When we got to the emergency room, I showed them my finger, told them “cooking” and “knife,” in a combination of English and terrible Korean, and Marc gave them my insurance information. I’d been there before, so all they needed was my name and my card- no paperwork. I had to sign one form saying I wasn’t pregnant, so they could give me one of the drugs. I was given a tetanus shot and a shot that the nurses referred to as merely “anti” (antibiotics, I assumed). Right away, the doctor came over, cleaned off the wound, wrapped it up, and prepared for the sutures. The nurse told me he was famous, and I thought she was joking, but he actually was interviewed on TV because he’d stitched up a Korean celebrity.

The stitches went pretty quickly, aside from when he was interrupted twice by a call on his cellphone, both of which he answered, chatted for a bit, changed his gloves, and got back to work. By the last two stitches the local anesthesia was wearing off, and it hurt a bit, but when I told him I could feel it he just told me it was the last one and finished up. It wasn’t too bad. I made an appointment to come back the next day for a follow up, was given 5 different pills to take the next day, and went to pay. The grand total for the emergency room visit, stitches, two shots, medicine, and the follow up visit was about $50. The next day, I did also have to pay $13 for 10 days worth of 5 pills at the pharmacy.

My finger doesn’t hurt anymore as long as I leave it alone. The only problem is that I can’t get it wet. When I went to the sauna/spa on Saturday, I had to wrap a plastic bag around it, and I got quite a few stares. I have to go back to get my stitches removed in a week, and that costs another $5. I think I can afford it.

Oh, and the mussels were delicious.

When I went up to the register to pay, however, it rang up at a higher price. I showed the cashier the price on the wall, he looked at it confusedly for a moment, and then showed me that it had been hanging in the wrong place. The correct price was only a couple more yen, but I didn’t have it. I showed the guy my coins to say that I didn’t have enough, walked away, and found a seat near the boarding gate for my plane.

After about 30 minutes, right before my plane was scheduled to board, I heard someone behind me say, “excuse me.” I was handed a small package, but by the time I had said thank you and looked up to see who it was, he was gone. I opened the package, and in a small colorful paper bag was the key chain.

I must have looked devastated earlier – perhaps my non-verbal communication skills were a bit too effective in this situation. But, the gesture definitely cheered me up, even if I wasn’t really sad to begin with!