Flowing With Yecheon

Yecheon is the name of my town, which translates into English as sweet water.  Apparently it's long been known for its clean wells, though my students tell me that the river running through it, the han-cheon, shouldn't be fished anymore as it's "dirty" (people still do it anyway).  In fact, just several minutes walk from my apartment there's what is considered the signature old well in the town, sitting rather inconspicuously just off the street.
   
After nine months here Yecheon is now a true home.  I can't say that impression came to me during my first weekend here.  I arrived in the town after being in Korea only a week and was dropped off at a temporary flat that had belonged to the previous foreign teacher, where I would stay for a few days while my new currently-being-finished apartment was ready to move into.  I was left to explore the town freely for the next few days before my upcoming first day on the job.  At that time I naturally had no idea where anything was (except for a big yellow building I had been told was the grocery store).  I ate some of the food left in the cupboard by the previous tenant and then ventured out to explore, mentally mapping my route of wander carefully in order to make it back to the black iron gate that was the only identification of my building's entrance.  The first thing that struck me was the oldness of the place.  I don't mean this in an ancient sense, I mean it in the sense that everyone on the streets seemed late middle aged to elderly.  Old women (adjumma) squatted on the sidewalk beside baskets and trays of vegetables, fruit and fish.  Old folks hobbled slowly up the street in front of me and towards me.  I didn't know it at the time, but I was on the main street of the town.  It was awash with spring sunlight and on that first stroll everything appeared monochrome and washed out with that sunlight.  The color was all there, I just wasn't seeing it yet.  I wasn't really looking at buildings, just the road and sidewalk, feeling stared at and trying not to trip over or crash into anyone's stalls, boxes or baskets.  I wasn't used to such narrow or narrowed sidewalks.  In front of some building aquariums sat out in full view, displaying their close quartered eels and fish for the world to see.  I couldn't read hangul (the Korean alphabet) yet, and I saw absolutely no English written anywhere on that foray.  Eventually I wound my way back to the grocery store I had been shown earlier.  Here the hangul struck again.  Any time you go to a new grocery store you need to orient yourself to its particular lay out.  In a foreign country, with foreign foods packaged in unfamiliar containers without any English on them this becomes a bit more daunting (fortunately hangul is extremely easy to learn).