The Ramen Story

My first tour of duty in Korea was in 1979. We did our training in the mountains that dwarf Tongduchŏn (TDC, to those in the know), in preparation for our 30-day rotations in the DMZ. My weapon (not by choice) was the M-60, a most devastating weapon with awesome firepower. Our rucksacks were packed for the usual 5-7 day trek up to the ridge line, to various overwatch positions.

The name of the mountain range escapes me, but what we named it will never make it past the filtering mechanism here.  

A mama-san or 3 would normally accompany our patrols, carrying large quantities of orangee soda bottles, wrapped in a tarp on their head. Their backpacks consisted of metal cooking bowls, chopsticks, etc, and… Ramen! Mama-sans’ ages? Probably in the 60s or 70s. It's hard to tell, as they were of farming origin, mostly from rice paddies and lots of vegetable farms. They were of very rugged countenance, to say the least.

As steep as those mountains are, and as tired and sore we were, mama-san would walk seemingly upright, while smiling and nodding to us in encouragement. Her pace and her poise, while trudging past us, was humbling. It would quiet the complainers for a short while.

Long story short, by the time we'd reach our destination for the one hour rest, the small cooking fires were ablaze, and the ramen was ready to serve. Then, they'd pack it all up and meet us at the next overwatch. That was my first introduction to ramen, and memories like those still remain. Even to this day, I prepare my home cooked ramen gourmet style.

I still savor those $.012 packages of comfort, with my added gourmet enhancements.