I did not pick a good day to walk outside without an umbrella. I had
glanced up briefly as I opened the front door, decided the clouds would
not fall, and locked the door firmly behind me.
Yet as I sat in my new favorite coffee haunt, aptly named Coffee Writer, I watched mist blanket the narrow strip of asphalt three feet from my open-air table. Hmm, I wonder how long this will last? I had watched it try to rain a couple times before, but in the end, the skies stayed white and the clouds floated by to fall on someone else. I decided to wait it out, and read my book contentedly as the mist slowly became whole rain drops. It was such a gradual process, that by the time I got up to to head home, it was truly dreary weather. Portland weather. The kind of rain that was expected to stay all afternoon. I couldn't sit at that open-air table all afternoon.
And so I set out into the steady rain with no umbrella, no newspaper, nothing to hold over my head. I couldn't decide if I should walk straight home or run my errand -- either way I would be drenched by the time I made it up that colossal hill.
Hunching my shoulders, looking to all passersby like a pitiful farang (haven't learned the word for foreigner in Korean yet), I climbed the hills to the local shop and purchased a straw broom. Perhaps it was culturally taboo, but I still shielded my head with the light yellow broom; the resin smell wafting down. I couldn't help but catch the eyes of the Koreans around me, huddled securely beneath colorful umbrellas, their thick-soled shoes stepping gingerly across the brick path. Their brows furrowed, their eyes darted quizzically to mine, but they hurried along nonetheless.
Why is she using a broom as an umbrella? I could almost hear their thoughts. Silly foreigner.
I made it home, drenched, with no dignity in tact. Be assured I know how to use a broom and an umbrella, but that day I had to be creative.
Yet as I sat in my new favorite coffee haunt, aptly named Coffee Writer, I watched mist blanket the narrow strip of asphalt three feet from my open-air table. Hmm, I wonder how long this will last? I had watched it try to rain a couple times before, but in the end, the skies stayed white and the clouds floated by to fall on someone else. I decided to wait it out, and read my book contentedly as the mist slowly became whole rain drops. It was such a gradual process, that by the time I got up to to head home, it was truly dreary weather. Portland weather. The kind of rain that was expected to stay all afternoon. I couldn't sit at that open-air table all afternoon.
And so I set out into the steady rain with no umbrella, no newspaper, nothing to hold over my head. I couldn't decide if I should walk straight home or run my errand -- either way I would be drenched by the time I made it up that colossal hill.
Hunching my shoulders, looking to all passersby like a pitiful farang (haven't learned the word for foreigner in Korean yet), I climbed the hills to the local shop and purchased a straw broom. Perhaps it was culturally taboo, but I still shielded my head with the light yellow broom; the resin smell wafting down. I couldn't help but catch the eyes of the Koreans around me, huddled securely beneath colorful umbrellas, their thick-soled shoes stepping gingerly across the brick path. Their brows furrowed, their eyes darted quizzically to mine, but they hurried along nonetheless.
Why is she using a broom as an umbrella? I could almost hear their thoughts. Silly foreigner.
I made it home, drenched, with no dignity in tact. Be assured I know how to use a broom and an umbrella, but that day I had to be creative.
