Yesterday I paid for the house we are currently occupying. In accordance with USFK policies, we did not pay a down payment with a promise for monthly rent. Instead, we paid the entire two years rent up front. Moreover, we paid it in cash. My jaw dropped when my housing department told me this, but I dutifully made an appointment with my bank to withdraw the staggering amount of money, which had appeared in my account before we moved in. The soonest they could provide me with cash in hand, by the way, was a week afterwards.
So I spoke to our realtor about it, and he arranged for the landlord to meet us at the bank to witness the cash being counted. The bank manager came out and observed as well. I'm not comfortable posting how much cash it was on the internet, but let me assure you that I have never seen anything close to this dollar amount in my bank account before, much less in cash. The teller put stacks of hundreds through the counting machine while everyone observed. Then the realtor asked to flip through the stacks of bills to assure the landlord that they were all benjamins. They then placed the stacks in a huge envelope and handed it to me. I held on to this cash for about 10 minutes while we walked over to housing, at which point I handed it over in front of witnesses from our housing department. We both signed a statement that I had paid my rent, and it was notarized. We now have a place to live for the next two years. That kind of security is a wonderful feeling, though not as thrilling as holding tens of thousands of dollars in cash.
We went car shopping with Mr. Pan later in the day. This was an unusual and frustrating experience for us. In Korea, there is no test driving, no carfax reports, and no haggling over price. I couldn't even read the specs of the car, since they were all in Korean. I'm fortunate to have Mr. Pan, since he asked questions for us and told us what the car dealers, who spoke no English, were saying. Regular readers of this blog may notice a pattern—Meri is given a sharp reminder that she is in a country where she can't communicate with 90% of the people, and Mr. Pan rescues her from disaster. Living in Korea must be a completely different experience for Americans who lack such a selfless and dedicated friend with a strong grasp of English. I have also been getting to work every day without a car thanks to Mr. Pan. I'm racking my brain trying to figure out a good enough Christmas gift for him.
Tonight we had dinner at our next door restaurant. We paid 20,000 won (about 17 dollars) and got a small plates of several of our favorite Korean dishes. Right now I am looking out at the flashing crosses of Daegu's churches (churches in Daegu resemble casinos in garishness, more so at Christmas) feeling warm and satisfied. As it is below freezing outside, this is a testament to the soup and tea that was a part of our meal.
After a quick inspection from our base mechanic, by the way, we have decided to buy the car. It's a 1997 Hyundai Sonata 3, and our mechanic told us it was a solid car as long as we didn't try to take it too far. Tomorrow we go to the car lot to sign the paperwork, then start what will probably be a harrowing process of getting the car registered with the city of Daegu and the U.S. military.
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