Off To Hawaii, First Stop Korea

I began my vacation to Hawaii today, rummaging in my closet and drawers for lightweight clothing and sun block.  We plan to be there for two weeks, on Oahu and Kauai, doing this and that, but mostly relaxing and slowing down a lot.  The weather on the central coast is cold, gray and threatening, which makes Hawaii seem wonderfully alluring now.

In preparation, I shopped, cleaned the place up a bit, caught up on bills and rearranged things that unarrange themselves when we're at home.  Laundry, sweeping, odds and ends that hide in the refrigerator determined to become science projects, all presented themselves as important today.   I like to get things in order before I leave, mostly so I can come home to a place that's ready for me to take up my life again when I return.

In the middle of the gray cold day, I went downtown for a pedicure - bright pink toenails to get in a tropical mood.  Colors can do that to you, put you in a mood, good or bad, but bright pink - well, there's a color you can't mistake for Norway or Russia.  Fuchsia practically plays a ukulele all by itself.

The ladies who own the manicure/pedicure salon are Korean.  As I sat in the pedicure "spa" chair and had my back rolled up and down by the massaging mechanism in its back, the miniature hot tub at my feet bubbling and humming, the women chatted in Korean. It was pleasant and lulling, another background sound, a language of exotic noises, lilts and tones that has no meaning to me.  The place was tidy, feminine, with laughing Buddha statues and flower decorations.  Everywhere were small bottles of polish, lotions, removers, and soaks, standing in tiny trays at each station.

There's something particularly self-indulgent about having your toenails painted pink by a small woman who speaks a very foreign language.  It was an intimate act, her handling my feet, giving me a bit of pleasure that way, taking care to see to my comfort.  She made brief gestures to indicate that I place my foot here or my hand there as she needed it moved.  She noticed my ticklish spots and smiled quickly at me, but her English was about 95% Korean, so we only exchanged the smile of understanding.

"You tickish," she said.

"Yes, I can't help it," I said, and the conversation died away.  We smiled.

She went back to her work and I went back to gazing out the window and enjoying the rollers running up and down my back.  I wondered when she had left Korea and what her life had been like there, how long she had been here in California and how she had managed to live in an English-speaking culture not speaking the language herself.  But, her friends, her community within the community, have established as much of what they admire about Korea including its language and laughing Buddhas as they can, a shielding blanket of familiarity that protects them from the strangeness of America.

She finished my nails after giving me a tender little massage of each hand, and I sat with them drying in front of a small fan.  She slipped some thin foam flip-flops onto each of my feet and stood back.  I handed her some cash and we all said good-bye, have a nice day, have a happy Thanksgiving, good-bye, good-bye, smiling in all the pauses.  I walked out with tropical toes and there merest hint of Korea on my skin.