The Most Expensive Burrito I've Ever Had

Living in a foreign country, far from the comforts of San Francisco, the city I normally call home, provides me with ample, almost daily opportunities to examine and re-examine my life.

Things that I used to hold very near and dear, things that I felt I could never live without (like owning a car, or being neurotically on-time) have proven themselves to be of little real value to me now.

Things that I always took for granted, things that I never really considered before, have proven themselves to be absolute necessities in my life.

Things like clean air, pure water, a variety of personal freedoms.

And Mexican Food.

In some neighborhoods in San Francisco, it appears that a radical zoning ordinance is in effect: namely, that there must be a Mexican food outlet of some sort every 200 feet.

Taquerias soon become like the homeless; they're everywhere, but, after a while, you just kind of stop noticing them.

And then you move to South Korea, and the Mexican Food Well runs dry. Or, rather, it's unceremoniouisly bulldozed over and filled in to make room for the new kimbop stand.

After I moved here, after a month or two of near-hysterical emotional outbursts, leavened by periods of extreme loneliness, all set against a background of daily frustration/boredom, I finally began to, slowly, make this foreign country my new home.

I began to learn the language. And to learn the bus routes. And to sample the local, um, cuisine (including various parts of cow, pig, fish, and squid that I never even knew existed, much less were edible).

I also started missing things from home. Little things, inconsequential things; things that I know I'll get back to fairly soon, but their absence is felt.

I miss my favorite radio station (hello, Live 105), and the voice of the announcer for KTVU ("There's Only One '2'"), and movie previews, and root beer, and, you know, just a whole bunch of stuff. And each new thing I realize is missing gets it's own little mourning period, and then is put back onto it's little shelf where it may wait patiently until it's safe to crave again.

Mexican Food just won't stay on that shelf. It keeps jumping off and running up to the top of my list, again amd again, screaming, "You want me!! YOU WANT ME!!" over and over.

9 more months suddenly seems like an awfully long time.

I start seeing burritos in my dreams. Warm, steaming tortillas, wrapped lovingly around mild beans and sharp cheese, topped with cool sour cream and spicy chicken, salsa, and guacamole and...

...oh dear god, I've got it bad.

Time passes slowly. So very slowly.

I open the newspaper one day, and stare dumbly for a very long time at the advertisement. I'm sure I've read it wrong, and I'm waiting patiently for it to correct itself:

EL TACO
For your special taste, there
is only one Mexican fast food
in Korea for you. We are open
7 days a week....

That can't be correct. But there it still is.

It's in Seoul. I'm in Pusan. Opposite ends of the country.

But still, you know, it's Mexican Food.

All the way to the Korean Airlines building, I'm asking myself, "Are you really gonna buy a ticket to fly to Seoul for a burrito? Is that what we're doing? Really?"

I guess so, my friend.

Sitting in the airplane, taxiing out for take-off, I'm still asking, "Are you really flying to Seoul for a burrito? Is that where we're going? Really?"

I guess so, my friend.

The plane lands. I grab my bag and head directly for the subway.

The airport is on the purple line. The ad (glued into my notebook) says that EL TACO is on the green line. I study the map in the station, figuring out where I have to change trains. I buy my ticket and step through the turnstile, my head held high.

I am a man on a mission.

I change trains at the proper place. I get off at the correct station. I exit the right exit.

And it's not there. A Popeye's Fried Chicken is staring me in the face. Taunting me. Ha ha ha, no burritos here, mister.

I will not panic. I look at the ad again, meander for a block, retrace my steps, go around a different corner, and--

Nirvana Mexicana.

A clean and well-lighted place for burritos.

TWO DAYS LATER...

I'm flying back to Pusan, idly adding it all up in my head.

2 burritos: 6,000 won.

2 tacos: 4,000 won.

1 taco salad: 4,000 won.

Airfare: 63,000 won.

Hotel (2 nights): 50,000 won.

Total: 137,000 won, or $156.21.

Worth every penny, my friend.