11: members of the Sendai JETs Global Village team
8: Americans
1: Canadian
1: Kiwi
1: Japanese
5: girls
6: boys
2: number of teams we were asked to divide into, as 5-6 is the ideal number for most of the tasks we were assigned to.
8: age of the Habitat Village in Puerto Princesa, Palawan
128: number of homes in the Village
400: goal number of homes for the Village
400: hours of “sweat equity” Habitat requires from prospective homeowners, which meant we worked side-by-side with the future inhabitants of the homes we were building.Getting to know them also meant that Team 1 and Team 2 later became known as Team Fidel and Team Randy.
>5: U.S. dollars per month required for rent.Rent can also be paid through labor, most frequently brick-making; there were two adults and three adolescent boys who spend most of their days making bricks -- when the foreigners aren’t taking up all their supplies of molds and shovels.
7+: hours each day during which the Village has no electricity (8 am to 3 pm).There are also unscheduled blackouts and brownouts (wherein there is electricity, but not enough to go around so some people don’t get any) relatively frequently.No power means no power tools, so everything from mixing concrete to pounding gravel into molds to make bricks is done by hand.There is also no running water, so all the water we used and the villagers drink either falls from the sky or is hauled up from the creek.
5: large piles of gravel that had been hauled up from the nearby creek, one in front of each house.The same gravel was used for everything: as-is for basic concrete, sifted for mortar, mixed with rocks (the rocks sifted out during the pre-mortar preparations) for the floor, and as a playground by the children.
10: number of bags of gravel, per one bag of cement mix, required for mortar and flooring.
6-8: number of buckets of water required for flooring, depending on how recently it rained.
30: minutes to mix a batch of concrete, pass it in buckets into the house, and spread it into a nice smooth floor.
8: batches of concrete required to complete a floor.
3: floors completed during the first three days.
80: shovelfuls of gravel, per one bag of cement mix, required for bricks.
113: bricks completed by 8 Sendai JET team members (5 in the morning and 8 in the afternoon) over the course of a 6-hour day. Not counting the ones that fell apart when we tried to remove them from the molds.
150: bricks completed in eight hours by one homeowner, who makes bricks to pay his rent.
3: number of wheelbarrows on site, used to move the bricks from the drying area to the under-construction house.
5-7: number of bricks that can be placed in each wheelbarrow at a time.
25ish: hours that one team or the other spent hauling bricks from one place to another.
1.5: depth, in meters, of the hole needed for sewage.(It was then to be covered with a concrete lid that would keep out the smell -- and, presumably, keep everyone from falling in a la Slumdog Millionaire.)
4: hours that Team 1 worked on The Hole for Fidel’s house.
>.5: depth, in meters, of The Hole at the end of those 4 hours.
3: meals provided on-site, by women whose cooking, I think, was their rent contribution to the month.It was lunch and two snack breaks (merendas) -- but they provided enough food for them each to be a meal in themselves.
4: approximate number of mangoes I ate every day.Not counting however many go into a mango smoothie, which I drank basically every dinner if they were on the menu.
2: grand total of Tagalog phrases learned.Salamat po = Thank you.Magandan umaga = Good morning.
3.5: hours required for the children to overcome their shyness; ie, until lunch the first day.After that, we all had lots (and lots) of new friends. Their favorite game was to learn all our names, then shout them one by one to see how long it would take us to turn and wave. This game was especially fun if they were up in a tree or hiding behind something.
3.5: days of brutal sun and temperatures in the 90s.From Monday through mid-day Thursday we all burnt to an absolute crisp and sweated enough that we had to keep an eye on ourselves and each other to prevent dehydration.But just after lunch on Thursday (and just after mixing a fresh batch of concrete), the engineer came running up calling “Stop! Stop!The rains are come!”The rains, as it turned out, were torrential and not quite so brief as torrential rains I’m used to.That was the beginning of the working-while-constantly-wet and smelling-like-rainwater-all-the-time phase.
2: long-suffering souls provided to keep an eye on our stuff during the day and keep an eye on us at whatever shopping outlet/dangerous part of town we decided to explore after work.
3: number of days on which we decided to delay showers so as to explore and/or purchase necessities like non-Japanese sunscreen (ie, sunscreen that might have a chance of working) and aloe (because Japanese sunscreen doesn't work).
∞: stares intercepted as we wandered around splattered in an aromatic mixture of sweat, rain, concrete, and mud.Plus the pricelessly polite comment from a store clerk: “Why are you wet, ma’am?”
2: (air-conditioned) vans and drivers provided to transport us to the Village and then back to the hotel -- and to whichever restaurant we chose for dinner.
90: preferred speed, in kph, of Roy and Lolo, our drivers.
30: average speed of a tricycle on the National Highway.
2: number of lanes on the National Highway, not counting the equally-wide footpaths on either side. Also the number of solid yellow lines running down the middle of the road most of the time.
24: other vehicles passed during the drive on Friday.
60: minutes required to drive from the hotel to the Village.
45: minutes required when we were running late on Monday morning.We tried very hard to never be late again.
2001: average year of release of the American pop songs we heard on the radio.
1986?: year of release of the CD of Filipino favorites they unearthed to play for us whenever there was electricity.Just whistle while you work -- or, rather, sing along to songs whose words you will soon memorize even though they aren’t in your language.I still have “Oomba Papalicious” running through my head.
5: homes dedicated and occupied by their new owners in a ceremony on Friday afternoon.
I arrived back in Sendai at 5.45 am on Sunday morning, about an hour ahead of schedule. I have now unpacked all my bags, and the physical evidence of the trip is hanging to dry, put away, or neatly displayed. I wish that coming to terms with everything I’ve seen in the past two weeks was that easy.
Sorting through my reactions, to say nothing of my stories and photos, and deciding what to share is going to take a while. I promise there will be full blog coverage eventually. For now, I will leave you with a short list of things that I didn’t know I didn’t know:
--Poverty means nothing to a child. There are worse places to grow up than a village with a hundred other kids, scaffolding, giant piles of gravel, and foreigners to play with.
--Manila is a good example of a worse place to grow up.
--I am 23, unmarried, and childless. Therefore, I fail at life. (I learned this from a couple of middle-aged men on a bus in Bohol. They also had a lot of trouble accepting that I was not married or attached to either of the two boys I was travelling with.)
--People in Bohol are honored that foreigners would come to their island; they don’t consider it worthy of visiting because everyone is so poor. (This was after we established the depth of my reproductive failure.)
two days before i left for my first year mta, i gave myself 2nd-degree burns on my wrist with hot coffee.
twenty-four hours before leaving to build houses in a poverty-stricken area of the philippines, i have cut my finger with a kitchen knife i was trying to wash.
bad timing, jennifer!!!
however, sitting here with only one useful hand (hence the lack of capitals) means that i was looking around for stuff to waste time with, and created this. pretty, eh? apparently i think a lot.
so yeah, tomorrow night i leave for the philippines for two weeks, one to be spent building houses with habitat for humanity and one to be spent gallivanting. full update, with photos, will follow. i promise.
On 3 April 2008, I received my JET Program acceptance email from the Japanese Consulate in Boston. I still remember the rush -- of relief, of pride, of sheer unadulterated glee. I also remember knowing on a rational level that I had no idea what I was getting myself into -- but feeling so on top of the world that I was sure I'd be fine.
Well, I was fine. But I definitely did have no idea what I was getting myself into.
What I Know Now. What I'm Not Sure If I Wish I Knew Then.
(these are in whatever order they happened to occur to me, which may in itself reveal something)
that "kawaii" is the highest possible compliment for any woman under the age of thirty or any item that she owns.
that "kawaii" literally translates as "cute" but really means anything from pretty and fashionable to idiotic and Hello Kitty.
that travel doesn't happen when you're facing a snowstorm on the one hand and a warm kotatsu on the other.
that no one in Japan speaks fluent English.
that everyone in Japan speaks more English than they'll admit at first.
that being American is boring. They import too many of us.
that being blonde is the most exciting event of the day to whoever is staring at you/talking about you/taking your picture. It doesn't matter how many of us they import.
that I would become a pesco (fish-eating) vegetarian when with my colleagues.
that being a pesco vegetarian would be difficult and confusing enough.
that the Japanese do not understand the concept of vegetarianism.
that cherry blossom is a flavor, not just a flower.
that balls of salted rice wrapped in seaweed would come to be considered food, and a staple food at that.
that I would miss ovens and cheese and dense baked goods.
that manga and anime are not confined to 20somethings with bad teeth.
that businessmen read manga on the subways.
that Buddhist monks ride subways.
that it is not a stereotype that Japanese people get their l's and r's confused. They have trouble with b's and v's too.
that it is a stereotype that Japanese students are well-behaved angels who love English.
that Japan struggles with a high suicide rate among its students.
that the life span of a Japanese pop star is three months.
that you can't keep up with the Japanese pop scene, so don't try.
that I wouldn't be able to imagine leaving.
that it could take six months to get over the culture shock and the homesickness.
that maybe I was destined to be a teacher all along.
that you can miss your adopted homeland as much as your real homeland.
that a bicycle is the way to go -- anywhere.
that anything cut below the collarbone is risque, but pants are optional.
that you learn things from drunken colleagues that would never come out in the staff room.
that Canadians don't have anything on the Japanese when it comes to effective use of the word "eh."
I have been a very bad blogger lately... two posts in three months, tsk tsk tsk. The problem is, I have been saving all my money for a massive Habitat for Humanity-based trip to the Philippines (someday I will learn to spell that right the first time around) at the very end of April. So local travel, which is less expensive but still expensive, given that this is Japan, has been pretty well cut off for the moment.
Plus it's too bloody cold to do anything of particular interest. When I go out with friends, it is typically to curl up in each other's apartments under kotatsus and eat hot food while discussing our schools and kids. Exciting, no? I just cannot stir up any enthusiasm to travel to a different town and look at their snow, dead gardens, and cold streets.
I have also been too busy, and then exhausted from the busyness, to do much. The new school year (as well as the new fiscal year, but that's not really relevant) begins in April in Japan. So we have all been extremely busy gearing up for graduation of the 3nensei, and now gearing up for the end of the year for everyone else and then the beginning of the year. You know a school has a lot going on if they are finding things for even the permanently-confused foreign teacher to be doing to help.
Which brings me to the main point: I am considering dropping my self-imposed ban on talking about my school and my kids here. I have resisted doing so mainly because it doesn't seem particularly ethical to talk about people without their knowledge or consent. It also seems like it could be really embarrassing (another word I need to learn to spell) if someone from the school stumbled onto this blog and discovered that I'd been saying things they didn't approve of.
The Japanese don’t really like their food too spicy-hot, so their version of kimchi is relatively mild.The Koreans would, in fact, probably consider it wimpy -- because the Koreans like their kimchi, and indeed most of their food, so hot that it made my eyes water.
This was both my first and last thought on Korea, because Korean Air fed us lunch both ways.
Thought #2: Whoever designs airports must be some sort of mad genius.
I had this thought while being led through what seemed like miles of corridors before even clearing immigration or customs.How can there be so much space devoted to moving people from the plane to the lineups?
Thought #3: I have been spoiled by Japanese service.
Even when the U.S. Border Patrol was holding me for four and a half hours in Calais, a week before Christmas, they smiled and said hello.The Korean immigration guy didn’t smile and didn’t say hello; in fact, he didn’t say anything at all.
The lady selling the bus tickets gave me a dirty look for getting my won confused -- it was my first Korean transaction, and I am not only blonde but I tried to speak to her in Japanese!(Trying to offer people less-than-useful Japanese was a frequent recurrence throughout my stay…)Clearly I am foreign-times-at-least-two; have a little patience!
The pattern continued; in general, people were no less pleasant than I was used to in the States, but Koreans have miles to go before they catch up to the Japanese in terms of appearing to be utterly delighted that you would deign to exist in their lives and utilize their services.
Thought #4: I have been spoiled by Japanese cleanliness.
The Japanese don’t litter.They don’t even eat in public.I had forgotten that the rest of the world is not like this.
Thought #5: Who do we think we are?
Krista and Sarah, my lovely hosts, live in a neighborhood called Itaewon, which is filled to the brim with foreigners: both English teachers and the inhabitants of a massive U.S. military base that surrounds a large chunk of downtown Seoul with bricks and barbed wire.
Seriously, who do we think we are?Why do we think we get to erect a giant eyesore in the middle of someone else’s capital city, and fill it with testosterone-fueled young men that apparently no one wants there or particularly likes?What monumental arrogance.
Thought #6: Central heating!
For those of you that don’t know, Japan has no central heating (and very little insulation, but that is another story entirely).I keep warm -- relatively -- with the aid of a small kerosene heater, an electric blanket, and a kotatsu.
Korea, on the other hand, has properly entered the 21st century, and equips its apartments with underfloor heating.It was a glorious thing.
Thought #7: I can order in English!
In Seoul, almost everyone speaks at least some English -- which is a good thing, since I intentionally didn’t learn any Korean (as doing so would have really messed up my Japanese; I envy people who can learn more than one language at once but I am not among them).There was a lot of joy in being able to order a “salad” instead of a “sa-ra-da” for the first time in six months.
Thought #8: No wonder the Koreans hate the Japanese.
On Sunday, the three of us headed to the War Memorial, which consists of three parts: the actual memorial, which was extremely puzzling until we found an English explanation of the symbolism involved; an outdoor graveyard/playground of Korean War-era planes, helicopters, and tanks, most of which could be accessed via short staircases that allows the curious to peer into (and sometimes climb into) the cockpits or cargo holds; and a rather massive museum.Inside the museum, the second and third floors were dedicated to the Korean War, the second to a nearly blow-by-blow description of the action and the third to the effects of the war upon the lives of ordinary Koreans.
The first floor was dedicated to the military history of Korea, which basically amounted to a long lists of splitting, re-joining, and conquests by China and, more frequently, Japan.I had mentioned to one of my teachers before leaving that we were planning to visit the War Memorial -- I was not trying to be culturally insensitive; I thought it was only about the Korean War! -- and he told me that many Japanese visit it and “feel much regret and sadness.”I can understand why, and I can’t even really blame the museum and the schools for referring to “the righteous armies” when they mention going to war against Japan.For heaven’s sake, Japan, pick on someone your own size!
Thought #9: It is the United States’ fault that there are now two Koreas.
This was not an original thought; rather, it was fed to me during one of the series of videos that the War Memorial provided to walk us through the month-to-month events of the Korean War.Apparently, the Russian army got involved in northern Korea, which prompted the U.S. army to get involved in the south.Tensions increased, and eventually Korea was split along the 38th parallel.Therefore, the video informed us starkly, the tragedy of the separation of Korea rests on America’s shoulders.Which is fine by me, but somewhat puzzling given that it seems the Russians interfered first?More reading is required.
Thought #10: When in doubt, just eat Indian food.
Sunday night found us in Insadong, one of the more tourist-friendly of Seoul’s famous markets.As such, there were three different vegetarian restaurants listed in the guidebook.Restaurant #1 was closed.Restaurant #2 was far outside our budget.Restaurant #3 was also closed.All three having been rather difficult to find, we were by now starving and decided to abandon the search for Korean vegetarian food and settle in for curry at an Indian place with very comfortable chairs.
Thought #11: When in doubt, hold a guidebook in one hand.Someone will offer assistance.
I could have figured out the subway on my own.I really could have.But I didn’t need to.As I stood, looking back and forth from the map to my guidebook, not one but two young men -- one foreign, one Korean -- came up to show me where to go and how to get there.Thanks, guys.
Later that day, I was adopted on the subway by a middle-aged Korean lady who decided that if she just repeated everything two or three times, I would magically acquire Korean language abilities and be able to answer her.After a surprisingly long while, it became clear to her that this plan was not working, and she switched to a near-monologue that seemed to require very little from me other than nodding and smiling.
Thought #12: Whoever designs Olympic Parks must also be some sort of mad genius.
Seoul hosted the 1988 Summer Olympic Games.Presumably, at some point prior to that, the City sat down with an Architect.This is how I think the meeting must have gone:
City: So, here’s the land we’re giving you.
Architect: What?!It’s full of hills!
City: Yes.
Architect: I have to build swimming pools!And stadiums!They can’t be on a tilt!
City: We know.But this city is already massive and crowded.This is what we have to give you.Besides, it will make a nice park once the Games are over.We will add some exercise equipment and people will come from all over the city to work out in it.
Architect: I will get you back!No stadium will look anything like any other stadium!
City: Oh, that’s okay.We’re Korean; we’re used to it.[Note: see Thought #20.]
Thought #13: Korean restaurants keep their restrooms elsewhere.
On Monday, I met Krista and Sarah during their lunch break and we went to a Korean fusion place tucked into a small strip of stores and restaurants.At one point, I wished to wash my hands (having just come from the subway).I was given a key and directed out of the restaurant and down a small hallway full of doors leading off into the storage rooms of the other stores.Krista and Sarah tell me this is pretty common in Korea.
Thought #14: Small Korean children are adorable -- and talented!
Krista told me that she recently instituted a no-Korean rule in her classroom of four-year-olds -- something I have no hope of managing even with my 15-year-olds who have been studying English for three years.
At one point, she asked one girl to recite the Lord’s Prayer for me.By the time she finished, I had a whole group of them surrounding me to shout “Amen!”
Sarah’s three-year-olds’ current favorite game is to bring in toy cups and tell you what kind of juice they have made for you.I drank a lot of juice, and it was all delicious.
Thought #15: Japanese people remain lovely even outside their own country.
I arrived at my first palace, Gyeongbokgung, just in time for the Changing of the Guard ceremony, which was basically the same as the ceremony I saw in Quebec except with brighter colors.
After the ceremony, there was still about an hour to spare before the English tour began, so I headed to the on-site (and free with a ticket to the palace) National Folk Museum, which traced much the same history as the War Memorial except without the guns.I saw a lot of old pottery and a lot of little dolls demonstrating traditional dress and activities.
Outside, there was a circle of Chinese zodiac animals wearing traditional Korean dress.A Japanese man saw me taking a picture of the ox, was charmed that I knew my animal, and basically insisted on taking this photo for me:
Thought #16: Ancient Korean queens were miserable.
My second non-original thought, this one coming directly from the English-speaking tour guide.I actually thought that things seemed more equitable they were at similar times in the West: the throne was actually a bench intended to seat two, and the painting behind the throne featured an equally-sized sun and moon pair.
But the tour guide pointed out that the necessity of a son meant that Korean kings had many concubines, and the Queen was expected to just put up with it.She was also not allowed to ever leave the palace grounds.And therefore, the tour guide felt that she was the most miserable person living in the sumptuous palace.
Until she became a widow and the King’s Mother, at which point she was housed just outside the main warren of palaces and the King had to come visit her every day.
Thought #17: I never thought my accent sounded British…
Tour guide: I like your accent.
Jenn: Thank you.
Tour guide: You’re from England, right?
Jenn: Um, no.But I’ll say I’m from Canada if it makes you feel better…
Thought #18: Korean street snacks run the gamut from utterly lovely to utterly disgusting.
On the former end… they roast silkworm larvae.It smells like vomit.I decided that being vegetarian extended to not eating baby bugs.
On the latter end… they take a lump of sticky dough, wrap it around cinnamon and sugar and sesame seeds, and fry it in enough oil that the finished product drips.I ate… well, a larger number than I should have.
Thought #19: Once you’ve mastered the subway once, it isn’t scary anymore.
Thought #20: There is something surreal about four hundred years’ worth of architectural styles being contained within one brick wall.
On Tuesday, I bought a ticket for the Seoul City Tour Bus, which takes you to the most popular sites in the city and allows you to get on and off as you like.First stop was Deoksugung Palace, which was built after the Japanese burnt down Gyeongbokgung in 1592.
The palace was first built in the mid-1600s, but various pieces kept burning down (either naturally or thanks to the Japanese) and they were rebuilt in a truly bizarre but not quite ugly mishmash of Korean and Western styles.
Thought #21: So, after I buy my high-tech electronics, I can walk to the next stall and select some still-swimming fish or turtles for supper…
Welcome to Namdaemun Market.
Thought #22: Okay, I’ve had enough museums now.
My third stop on the bus was the National Museum of Korea, which is monumentally enormous.If you followed the entire path (Korean museums like to lead you through using arrows on the floors, so that you see things in the correct order), you would walk over four kilometers.
I did the entire first floor, which traced the history of Korea, from the Paleolithic Era to the beginning of the Japanese occupation in 1910.There was a lot of pottery, a lot of really beautiful jewelry, and some truly fascinating artwork including an eight-metre-high painting of the Buddha and his attendants that was originally used for outdoor services and ceremonies.
It was all very interesting, but given that it was well past lunchtime and this was my fourth museum in three days, I opted to skip the second and third floor and get back on the bus.
Thought #23: Beware the side dishes!
The bus then took me to a neighborhood called Myeong-dong, which is the high-end fashion district of Seoul.The guidebook led me to a restaurant that served very good bibimbap -- a mixture of rice and vegetables (and usually meat, but I asked for it without) served in a very hot cast-iron bowl, that you stir up with a spoon and eat.
At least, that was what I ordered.And it did come -- but it was preceded by no fewer than nine bowls of side dishes!There was kimchi, there was crisped nori (seaweed sheets), there was pickled cabbage, there was konnyaku (a gelatinized root vegetable that is popular in Japan for its low calorie count, but which tastes like… well, gelatinized root vegetable), there was salad, there was sweet potato tempura.The side dishes knew no end.I’d’ve taken a picture, but I already felt quite a lot like a boorish American sitting in front of all that.
And at the end of the meal there was sweet plum tea, of which I heartily approved.
Thought #24: Thank God I have signed on to avoid Americans for another year.
Tuesday was my day for meeting the classic Boorish American Tourist.The first was a big-haired, Southern-accented blonde in the art museum on-site at Deoksugung, who kept pestering her Korean guide with really stupid questions.
The third was a family that couldn’t find seats together on the bus, so sat all over it and proceeded to shout back and forth about their plans for the rest of the day -- apparently not noticing (or caring) that they were making more noise than the rest of the bus combined.
The second, however, takes the crown.He was sitting at the next table over at the bibimbap restaurant.He must have just stepped off the plane.
Boorish American Tourist: Beer.
Non-English Speaking Waitress: OK.
BAT: What kinds do you have?
NESW: Beer. *points to menu*
BAT: No.Which ONES?
Jenn’s brain: Have you really never heard a joke about idiots in foreign countries speaking loud English?The beer is $3.50, for God’s sake -- you can afford to write it off as a cultural experience if you don’t like it.
BAT: Heineken. Budweiser. American.
NESW: Korean.
BAT, to the next table of Asians: Can you help me?
Asians: We’re Japanese.
Jenn’s brain: Okay, I probably would have screwed that up too.But what exactly makes you think that she speaks English just because she’s younger and prettier?
BAT: Oh, I’m going to Japan next.I have been studying Japanese. *proceeds to roll out the absolute worst-accented phrasebook Japanese I have ever heard*
Japanese women: *humor him, then begin speaking rapid-fire Japanese to each other as a way to ward him off*
Jenn’s brain: I want to kill something.Like myself.
when the food arrived…
BAT: Um, I need chopsticks.
NESW: *gives him a spoon*
BAT: No. Chop-sticks.
Jenn’s brain: You don’t eat this food with chopsticks!Did you seriously never hear of a travel guide?That you read before arrival so that you don’t look like quite so much of a moron?Must eat faster.Must remove myself from the vicinity before I actually skewer him with his damned chopsticks.
Thought #25: The Catholics claimed prime real estate.
The actual reason I chose to stop at Myeong-dong (the restaurant was a lucky coincidence) was to see the Catholic Cathedral at its centre, on top of a large hill.I’m assuming before all the high-rises and many-storied malls were built, it overlooked the city quite nicely.
Seeing a cathedral like that, looking almost exactly like the ones from the same period in America, in the middle of one of the largest cities in Asia, was almost surreal.It definitely felt very out of place.
I wanted to go inside, to see if Jesus looked Western for one thing, but there was some kind of service going on so I went away quietly.
Thought #26: Okay, I’ve had enough markets now.
My final stop was Dongdaemun Market, which was billed as larger and more impressive/exciting than Namdaemun.But I was unimpressed -- maybe because it was getting cold and windy, maybe because the ongoing construction to one of the large malls made it mazelike and confusing (I think I passed the same stall three times), maybe just because I was tired.In any case, I gave up trying to untangle the maze, bought one more cinnamon-sugar-filled fried goodie, and found the subway to go back to Krista and Sarah’s.
Thought #27: Who buys really expensive things in airports?
The next morning, I headed out just before eight to catch the bus to the airport.Once there, I briefly considered delaying breakfast until after I got through security, just to make sure there wouldn’t be any time problems.But the smell of coffee from the Dunkin Donuts (which we don’t have in Sendai) persuaded me otherwise.
And it’s a good thing.Outside security, there are all the coffee-and-donut places you could want.Once you get through, the only thing available are extremely expensive luxury goods.Pardon my language, but what the hell?Who exactly buys a several-hundred-dollar handbag while they are waiting to get onto their flight?Instead of a nice cup of coffee?If someone could explain this to me, I would be most grateful because I am seriously confused.
