old man cold man gumi can't take it

So Koreans are very proud about having four seasons--they seem surprised sometimes to hear that, yes, a good portion of the world on the same latitudinal lines share this phenomenon...  And YET when inclement weather hits, like snow, for example, you'd think they'd never dealt with it before.  To be fair, the past year or so has brought more snow to South Korea than the country has seen in over 30 years, but considering it snowed freakishly in April and has now snowed enough in the past two weeks to cover-thaw-freeze-cover- every driving and walking path of Gumi, you'd think they'd be a bit prepared.
Don't get me wrong, the snow is beautiful, and brings a bit of a relief to the annoyingly bitter cold, sun-shining deceptive cold.  Bring on those fatty flakes and all the fun that comes with them...
Except the streets are mush and ice, cars are fishtailing and skidding and I'm watching people bite it right and left, fearing a bit for my klutz-prone self.  But if I could, if there was some way to pantomime without slipping and eating ass on the icy streets I'm trying to save them from, I would try and communicate a lesson or two to these folks who don't seem to own salt or shovels or have the sense to walk down icy sidewalks without their hands in their pockets or can't seem to take their foot off the accelerator long enough to consider other ways of getting their car unstuck...oh the hilarity.

pohang for president

Finally, the blaring kpop campaign remixes are no longer booming out of open-truck stages down the streets.  No more campaigners bowing to passing traffic on the corners, or dancing dogs, cows, horse-headed supermen.  Municipal elections definitely transformed the feeling of the cities these past few weeks.  Giant billboards of candidates faces, some happy some looking downright constipated, each assigned a number to save the public the time of actually learning their names.

Calling an end to all this madness, and giving us another red-calender day off of work mid-week (seriously, when was my  last 5-day week?  March?) Wednesday, June 2 was the day for elections.  While the good citizens of Korea were busy adding their vote to the masses, and the ones who couldn't be bothered were busy relaxing, I skipped town and spent the day basking on the beach in Pohang.  To be fair, I did my duty as a native teacher, returning precious won back to the coffers of the SoKo economy.

If I catch a train from Gumi at 5:20, and transfer in Dongdaegu, I can reach Pohang before 8.  After a peaceful train ride, I stop by Amy's spare apartment and am on Bukbu Beach by 8:10, in time to watch night take over the coast.  My visit to Pohang before never included the beach at night; what a transformation.  Standing on the boardwalk, with the city street wrapping around the bay behind me, and the dingy strip of POSCO factories all done up for a night on the town, I find myself in a sparkling neon garden.  All that glitter, along with my splurge of cab-sauv, and the renewed company of my powerful pohang pals, warms and charges the soul for a night on the town better than any uppers could ever hope to achieve.

A group of waegooks by the waves is a beautiful thing.  We ride on a tide of makoli and spirits, taking over Pohang, Powerful Pohang, in our storm of mid-week revelry.  The night ends in a Hello Kitty bar.  Pink and bubbly and full of soju and polaroids of any foreigners to grace it's tiny space.  Yep, that's us there on the wall, the whole lot of us looking a bit crunchy and stale at 4am.  What a lovely legacy to leave behind.

In the morning (well, morning for everyone else, almost lunch since I rise so early) we wake up to an oddly-quiet election day.  I don't see any of the campaigners until later in the evening when some karaoke clowns rolled by Bukbu.  But we enjoy the lazy sun of the day.  Indulge again, in some fantastic coffee and sandwiches facing the beach, then make our way across the street and into the sand.  We spend our afternoon being lazy, only occasionally rallying our energy for a half-assed game of frisbee or soccer, and mostly we just roll warm sand between our toes and talk.

In the afternoon, Pohang Pride delivers itself in the form of a Steelers match against Busan.  After cramming a few extra into a taxi and getting my first up-close acquaintance with the factories of POSCO, we buy chicken (not me) maekju (beer) and our tickets and join the red mobs of fans, cheering on their precious Pohang.  We made our way to an empty section up top, and found ourselves sandwiched by two very different groups of Koreans: an escorted, neutral-toned group of special-needs adults on the right, and a red-and-camoed firey bunch of army boys on the left.  They got quite a kick out of us.  We made it up on the megatron, the only waegooks in the arena.  We even got our own chant started, which the military men and their drummers promptly picked up and joined us in.   A wonderful day in the sun, watching a bit of soccer, with an intermission of very sexy dancers that made the military men go big-bad-wolf-wild.  Too much fun.

After we left the stadium, carried along in a river of pohang sports fans, Megan and I got separated from the group.  We tried to find a taxi, almost got hit by a few cars, crossed the street with my arms raised, and no luck.  Then, Korean hospitality again makes my day.  A black car pulled to the curb with the window down, asked if we needed a taxi, to which we kept saying yes, trying to wave them on, but instead they offered us a ride.  They drove us all the way to the beach, out of their way, slipping through short-cuts to dodge the heavy evening traffic that kept our pals locked on a bus for an extra 20minutes.  We enjoyed a ride, a nice conversation (with surprisingly good English) and were delivered safely beach-side.

I said my goodbyes looking out the same windows of the coffee shop from the morning (even though there are 3 more right next to it, conformity of capitalism being a hallmark of korea downtowns).  Sipping on my green tea late (yummm), I said goodbye to Pohang.

Another relaxing, empty train back to Gumi, and Thursday feels like Monday all over again.  But we met for cards last night on a rooftop cafe downtown.  And I am about to take my leave for the real weekend down in Busan.  Sandcastles and Fireworks and Soju await.

The elections are over, and now the only thing blaring in the streets comes from the propaganda fruit trucks (just farmers advertising through bullhorns, actually).  I don't feel much different, and apparently neither does Gumi.  My teachers all told me #1 won this district.  Nothing will change, they say.  I ask if they voted for #1 and they say no.  I ask if they are upset and they say no.  All the candidates are basically the same, they tell me.  I don't know the difference, except that one was a woman, one was a cow, one had a horse's head with a cape and one was a dog.  It's not that I am not trying to pay attention, I just know that I am fulfilling a different role here: economic stimulus.

apologies, apologies...i am enjoying myself far too much

Korea is taking my breath away.  Inflating me slowly and then sending me squealing, whirling, careening with a mad intense joy across this country while I exhale the giant breath that was the week.  I can't keep up.  The blogging has been lacking.  I look back at the last time I've written and realize how far behind I've become.  There is no way I will be able to record all of these memories.  No way I will be able to share them.  No way I will be able to forget them.

I try to write of the daily life, things I'd like to share.  From my mission to build the self-worth of hundreds of over-worked Korean high schoolers, to pinching at kimchi and conversation in the lunchroom.  English my only weapon (and a few, very few broken shards of Hangul).  Walks around the lake after lunch.  Moving to the table for coffee to laugh and stab shared fruit with toothpicks.  All the while, Geumo San winks at us through the window.  The quick syllables of Hangul have become my soundtrack, fluid, fast.  Highly emotive.  I love it.  A phrase a day--I am trying.

I walk to and from school with Woody each day.  Annyonghasayos and bows to all the adults of my alley.  They respond with smiles and a drawn out Ne.  They like me.  This oddity of a resident.  I like them.

Night classes Monday and Wednesday teaching writing to ridiculously gifted 1st and 2nd graders who fill my subversive fix with a the raw honesty of their experience, unabashed when free from the eyes and ears of the administration.  The positivity revolution I hope to spread has begun.

Explore the city Tuesday and Thursday nights with the other Waegooks.  I try for a different spot each time.  So far we've found too many pasta places, some fabulous hofs, and the most delicious flavored makoli.  Twiggum and Kimbop and Hoddok.  Yum.  I fear in a year I won't even see all of Gumi, there are so many spots to sample.  And Gumi is only for during the week.

But that is not even a typical week anymore.  I can't remember the last 5 day work week I've had.  Weekends and weeks spill into each other and it all becomes one long, gulp of life.  Experience, one-after-another, is the theme of this.  Vacation?  Hell no.  THIS is LIFE.  Live it up.

Every weekend--and every weekday, free-from-teaching holiday--I find myself somewhere new.  I return to some cities, but always to discover new sites, new dives, new secrets.  Weekends are for Westerners, for Waegooks, for indulgence to the Nth degree.  We could be crazy, abrasive, ignorant tourists, but instead, we inhabit the lacuna of South Korea--not quite Korean, not quite Western tourist.  The way of the Waegook (I must blog about this more in the future).  There is always a healthy cocktail of culture and partying and nature and bonding.

Friends come fast and are scattered across the railways, offering beds and guides and company and an insider's hookups in each city we visit.  To make this experience all the more thrilling, there is no difficulty in rallying the troops for a bit of fun.  All that is required is a good attitude, being down for anything, and having no expectations.  I've caught last-minute boat tours across Busan, watched the bulls fight in Cheongdo, striped Daegu Waldo-style, rolled through Gyeongju on ATVs and bicycles and swan boats, soaked in a green tea bath overlooking the coast of Boseong, drank makoli on a tower overlooking suncheon, paraded through Pohang in Pajamas, rode a motorcycle across the coast, hiked mountains, walked through cherry blossoms...etc...etc...I have been dancing my way across South Korea.

Tomorrow is sports day at school and then I leave to Max it out on Bukjido, camping for Buddha's Birthday.  Nothing like spending three days on an uninhabited island with friends from around the world.  Makin each moment matter, each moment a memory, the sun adds to the freckles and the story continues to write itself into me.

an epic korean birthday: crazy is one weekend older

After a week of Woody-less combined classes (he was off honeymoonin), students stressing over midterms and anticipating one of their few weekends at home, and editing enough engrish essays to make my eyes cross, TGIF! Not only Friday, but the first night of an epic birthday weekend in Daegu half-planned the night before.

Treat me like the queen bee, Friday night I was out with my boys. Dan, Eoghan, Jack, Kevin catch the train from Gumi. Meet up with Tom, Sean and Blake (surprise!), grab back-alley rooms at the Green Motel. My second room in korea. 25,000won gets you a bed, tv, fridge and a bathtub. Nice.
After that's all sorted, it's back into the neon crowds to a noodle shop for a quick korean dinner where Tom introduces us to two Korean friends he made. Friends we made, now.

They take us to a laser and smoke-lit basement bar, swanky and empty enough to let the beats echo. Jeeep (why do koreans love the extra letters?) Crown is cheap. Tequila is cheaper. So it begins. Lights and mirrors and music, and I don't care that it's early, I'm going to dance. Tom's friend is the dj's brother, and he gladly spins us up some funk, some mj, whatever we wanna say. It's good. We fawn over the beautiful mystery-ethniced (korean-american, after a bit of diggin) beautiful bartender whose smiles and conversation take a long time to coax out. Later I even get her to do a bit (very small bit) of dancing. We mingle, we dance. Our new friends keep the shots coming, keep the smiles coming, keep the beats coming. Smoke and mirrors and laughs and lights and a birthday shot that looks like a prop from Abyss (151 creme-de-menthe bailey's--I called it!). One tequila two tequila blackoutkorea.

What a wonderful little hotel room. Bright and early peekin out at the sunshine over a Daegu Saturday. My first real soak in Korea outside of the saunas (even I have to fold myself up to fit into the tub). Bum around wakin up watching a real crap movie on tv (kangaroo jack?) and rally the troops that are Eoghan and Dan next door. Gotta meet people at one. Gotta find food.

Daegu sunny Saturday is packed with people. After food, comes my next big birthday treat: Coldstone's just had it's grand opening. I get a chocolate-peanut-butter-taste-of-home then it's off to the yuk to try and meet up. Rallying troops is hard--i don't even know who's planning to show. But once we figure out the locker mess, wait for the gumi bears and pohangers to show, let the boys from the night before off the hook, we've got a group of about 14 on the subway, bound for Woobang land. More waiting, more walking--beautiful park, though--and we're those kids in the car: are we there yet? arewethereyet? We see towers, rollercoasters, hear screams. hen we find the queues. Koreans--and what! white people! (which really includes every color of english-speaking foreigner)--they're everywhere. Tickets. People. Lockers. Picture by the giant birthday cake just for me (ok, for the park's 15th, good timing though). Sorted. We are in.

Theme parks are pretty much the same in just about any part of the world. There are rides--bit and small, a chaotic battle of carousel music, colors, lights, food, smells that all battle for your attention.  But in Korea they're also full of matching couples and cartoons on steroids. And tons of tulips polkadot walks.   Rollercoasters! Rollercosters! Waits in line. Excitement. Some queazy hung-over stomachs. Corn dogs with sugar. Batting cages. A stage show of Elvis, Beyonce, Lady Gaga. Feelin like kids again. Adrenaline and jollies. A birthday gift of tiger ears, that go nicely with the pink hat Kelly crowned me with, courtesy of a Dunkin Donuts birthday.

 A trip up Woobang tower to see the city of Daegu and watch a bungee jumper fall past the window.  We stick our faces in cutouts characters from around the world.  Blow kisses at the camera in the "kissing zone."  And then we gawk at how the city sprawls.  All of the towers we go up do this to us: we just have no sense of the density of this country until we step back and look at it from above.  While enjoying the lovely view, we a go on the Sky Toilet, exposing our unmentionables for anyone with high powered binoculars.  Do I even need to mention how much I enjoy the fact that you can take a crap on Daegu?  Haha.  We're done.
After a whole lot of walking, waiting, riding, standing, and eating.  We leave Woobang land behind, and hop train back to downtown Daegu.

After meeting up with yet more people and trying and failing to coordinate dinner plans, we collect some free soju on the street and our group of 12 wind through the streets to Dijon, a posh little restaurant promising Mediterranean and hopes of hummus but really is just fusion-Italian like all the others. But we dine in style with REAL garlic bread. Melt-in-your-mouth real butter and nothin sweet about it. Goes great with my salmon salad. Yummm. Done.

Meet ups in Billi Bowl. Reunited again! Here, in one place, are the Gumi Bears, Pohangers, Yeongcheoners, Gyeongjuers, even some from Busan (I don't even know all the city nicknames yet).  Somehow, even when we see each other almost every weekend, these reunions are epically played out--hugs hugs hugs.  Waegooks overrun the bar, but we drink slow, wait slower, and ease into the warmth and noise of the evening before trying to rally far too many troops.

Off we go to GoGo.  Well, in all actuality, we wind through the daegu maze trying to find a space to accommodate us all.  Our forces divided we call and grasp out with phones, overcome the distaste for GoGo and follow the pull towards capri sun coctails until we take all find ourselves in the basement with glosticks on our wrists and superbly strong coctails in our hands and beats beats beats getting us moving.  And all we can do is celebrate.  Together, under poorly written engrish signs and neon scratching our faces, we dance our way through the night, dance our way past embarrassment.  At some point Sean dons the robot head, the dj gives me a couple shout outs, the 300 arrive in togaed legions bearing ice cream cakes, the ears disappear along with inhibitions and we get a healthy riot of craziness going to overtake the club .  And  through all the partyin, people move in and out of the bar, but our epik family creates a nucleus of energy that seems to suck all the people we know into daegu, into a dingy basement club, into a mess of a show where we all have stepped outside time and into the beats.

The end stretches over the hours.  We all trickle in different directions with slightly altered burdens.  On this particular Sunday morning, the night takes its toll and spits many of us in the wrong direction.  No 4am train to Gumi, taxis and feet and trains scatter us.  Portia and the pohangers actually find a taxi back to Gumi.  I end up in a cab in the opposite direction to Yeongcheon, Libby saving the day as she is always so good at.  I hear the next day of bags being lost on trains, people disappearing in Daegu, and some ending up cities too far: Busan Gimcheong Ulsan.  Man.  What a gathering, what a party. Whew.

Sunday, the day for rest, the day for reflection.  I, as always, wake up entirely too early, and get to explore the quiet little streets of Yeongcheon.  Oddly enough, it reminds me of small towns in Kansas.  Not the way it looks, but the way it feels.  It feels like Horton.
Once I have my paris baguette breakfast, a bit of coffee in me, say my goodbyes, I catch a slow train back to Gumi.  Staring out the window at the camo-colored mountains and feeling the sun strobe past me, I am once again fit to burstin with my love for this country, for my transplanted family, for how fulfilling life is anywhere you are.  But I am here.  SoKo.  It is a good fit.

I finally make it back to Gumi and have a quick shower, a quick shout to portia.  We're off to explore the other side of the city.  Past In-dong to a park packed with Koreans.  Ignore the factories across the road; the long, winding, manicured park, dotted with swings and trees and fountains, overlooking the river with the mountains in the distance, lets us absorb spring.  We eat ice cream, and dodge scooters, have a look at some critters familiar to any classic US petting zoo.  We lay in some spiky grass with giant ants, under the shade of a Dutch windmill, watching a Korean woman break bullseyes and possibly records with her bow and arrow.  Sitting in a park, enjoying each others company while we recover and recharge and reflect on the past two days and nights events.  I am marinating in happiness.

Finally, it is time for goodbyes, and we walk the Pohangers towards the taxis, taking a brief stop on some exercise equipment and another to say hello to a crane on the river.  Then it's hugs, farewells, and Portia and I comfortably strolling through In-dong.  Portia, my partner in exploration always up for a bit of an adventure, suggests we go explore a temple by the bridge.  Turns out there is no temple, just a chained up traditional Confucian campus--most likely being rented out for weddings, ceremonies, etc etc.  While walking around the area, we note some Koreans who've set up a bbq under the bridge, and we both comment on how ridiculous it seems to set up a picnic, under a noisy bridge, on concrete, in the shade.  But, oh the character of Korea.

Well, turns out we have to walk under the bridge to get up to the walkway.  As we're passing them, as is the norm in Korea, several of them say hello and wave and giggle.  We say hello, keep walking, we're almost back into the sun, when one of them men call us over.  Brain dead and bedraggled, we share a why-the-hell-not look and I say yes to one more amazing moment to make this weekend perfect.  Korea provides, the universe provides.  I'd been lamenting not having enough contact with native culture, and suddenly I am presented with the Korean generosity and hospitality we have been told so much about.

Previous notions of the oddity of the location are undone when Portia and I walk over to see they've set up a nice little grill from a grate and a few bricks, a fire built right onto the concrete.  There is a nice breeze, a good view of the river, and little perception of the presence of the freeway rumbling above us.  In fact, the cool seclusion under the bridge offers plenty of room for the family to enjoy their oysters and soju, let their kids wander, and avoid the day's heat.  It's perfect.  And they invite us to share and indulge in their secret celebration.  Immediately two of the men move and offer Portia and I seats.  They have pour us soda, water, soju.  They hand us chopsticks.  Put more oysters on the grill.  Offer us kimbop.  Seem shocked that we can handle the spice, the raw garlic, the kimchi.  I love the way Koreans seem to be impressed when we enjoy their flavors.  They have SO much, and they even get a second grill of bulgogi (maybe?), and they share it all and keep refilling and encouraging us.

We spend about an hour of broken engrish and consultations to cellphone dictionaries, and many many charades and laughs.  We find out the young girls can speak some English but are too shy, and we give them some wafer cookies as a return gift, it being the only thing we have on us.  A few of the men are over 40 and repeatedly want to know if we have boyfriends, and they give their female friend a hard time for her age, another for her white pants and heels, which she proves don't stop her from squatting and joining in.  The shade stretches, and we have a movie to catch, and the awkward, broken conversation is becoming more difficult the more the soju kicks in.  So we thank them with arms and bows and kamsahamnidas and make our way up to the top of the bridge.

At this point I am about to explode at the sheer joy this weekend in Korea has given me.  As Portia and I are crossing the river, the sun cuts rays across the city's horizon, and all the greens seem brighter and golden and I can't stop exhaling AWESOME.  I've ridden roller coasters and danced my face off and pet goats in the park and eaten oysters for the first time under a bridge with a family of Koreans!  This has been the perfect weekend.

It isn't even over.  We meet Dan and Eoghan for Isaac Toast (yummm) that we sneak into the theater for a screening of KickAss.  Which did.  And Sunday night I should have slept, wrapped in the euphoric residue of a weekend done right.  But again, too happy for sleep.  Too excited for pizza with REAL RANCH DRESSING the next day.  Too excited for Daegu later in the week, for Pohang the next weekend, for midterms and summer and green and and and...

Another weekend older.  Crazy.  Another weekend where I am reminded to waste no time.  Not a moment.  Each little street and alley we can walk under, each friend we reconnect with on the weekends, each shot we are handed, each table--or blanket--we are invited to eat from, each beat we are given to dance to.  We are making moments, memories (cliche as it is) and building connections that link us, not just with each other, but with the whole community that extends beyond us.  Share it.

blossoms in my eyes

Korea is dynamic. We all have a love-hate relationship with this phrase, and I, for one, couldn't find one more apt to describe this whole experience. So dynamic, in fact, that I have been too busy observing, experiencing, absorbing, ingesting, digesting to even keep up. Absences of blogs do not mean absences of thought. Apologies, apologies for my failures to share.

Since last I blogged I have been to the beaches of Busan, walked the dirty streets of Daejeon, danced in Daegu again again again, had fish nibble the nasties from my toes, watched live-action anime, ate strawberries from stalls, riled the baboons, watched a traditional wedding, walked through tombs and zoos and mountains and neon.

But the most magical, by far, was the wistful white explosion of cherry blossoms. The first in Gumi, I'll swear to the end, were right outside my door. Then slowly, like a lazy sunday recovery yawn (from this ridiculously cold winter) the streets turned white. Not bitter-cold snowy white (though we did have a freakish evening of snow last week, which, mixing with the cherry blossoms was more beautiful than my annoyance wanted to give credit to) but cherry blossoms carry the spring in the petals, whispers of pink and promises of green.

And they are brief. The tensing of the muscles before springing upward into the air. Now, they are beginning to fly. It is raining white, all swirls and whorls and little polka dots that make me want to dance and wear sun dresses and dust off the bikinis and get ready ready ready for the heat. Green is coming. Spring is coming.

Korea, with her toes done up and finger nails matchin is gonna be one good time.

another epic epik weekend

Koreans surround me by day, westerners by night. And weekends. Such is the double life I am leading, where outside of school and the daily purchases I discard charades and broken konglish for English of many colors. This is the comfort zone that buffers us away from a fully korean life.

During the weeks, our English teacher community in Gumi usually meet up several times, for dinner, drinks, movies, ice cream. Regular haunts like Corona and Waegook Cook that foreigners past have already established. New trials, such as New York, New York, the Japanese fish fry, the movie theater. And now, my most recent fav, In Elf, an edgy little SK hof where we have Epik bombs (soju, coke and beer) and a decent array of food; I do believe we may be the first regulars of this bar--Korean or otherwise.

Last weekend visitors from farther East came to Gumi that I hadn't seen since our first reunion in Daegu. We met before lunch at Gumi Yuk. Hugs. Dropped off their bags at Jack's, with no Blake in sight (he missed the train). We stop at a corner shop for water and rice bars, chips, etc. Then we walk our 12+ westerners down the saturday streets in the sun, past my school, and up to Geumo San mountain. We make a collective goal to reach the waterfall and the temple--we don't really know what we're getting into, but after some snows earlier in the week, my coteachers warned of danger. But the day is beautiful, sunny, warm, and there are tons of Koreans taking advantage of a Saturday hike.

Past the sawn boats on the lake, past the village where we had our last EPIK meal, past the hotel, walking through skinny pines and broken sunlight, we find the "entrance" to the mountain. There are air guns where Koreans are cleaning dirt off their shoes, maps, a cable car, and many Koreans dressed to peak everest. We laugh at them in our sneakers and sweatshirts. Later they will laugh at us.

Beyond this point, the steady road ends. Even where paths have been made, the steps are uneven, sometimes rocky, and as we get higher, the path itself becomes a mix of dirt, boulders and higher up--mud. We are panting when we get to the first position at an old fortress entrance, bright turquoise rainbowed roof, red wood, brightly painted dragon looms above us as we pass through to continue our way into the mountain. Higher and higher, more and more uneven, and our lack of ability slaps us in the face when we see a woman in heels, old ladies, or the many korean children passing us up, darting around like agile little mountain goats.

Farther up is a buddhist temple. An old monk was shoveling snow. Gi and Laurie and I were a bit ahead, and after looking into one of the buildings, Laurie proves his energy with a Rocky recreation, running up the steps in his sweatshirt, my hoarse voice giving theme music, Gi acting as cameraman. The rest of the group joins us, and we have a random man take our pictures--a whole montage we find out later--on the steps of the temple. Rows of tiny Buddhas (including one on a cell phone) and a lit up shrine to Confucious give us some good will to continue upwards.

We continue to a cave, where the lack of sure footing and a very risky railing let my fears win out. Lindsay and I hand out for about 10 minutes while the rest go up. We see fathers with children on their shoulders, well above the guardrails making their way behind our crew--none of the natives seem to notice the uneven ground or the sheer drops next to them.
After a bit, we make our way over to the waterfall, and tiptoe our way under it to the other side. Here is the snow and slush my coteachers had warned me of. And it only gets worse going up.

Luckily, there are some stairs next. We huff and puff our way up, always questioning whether we are really going to continue. Lindsay stops at one landing, where she ends up having a wonderful conversation with a small Korean girl and her family, and is rewarded with oranges and a tomato. Libby, Sean, and I continue up behind the rest of them. Feel the burn.
It isn't until we reach a summit (not the very top, but still way way up) where we believe that Koreans actually do sweat some. The stairs end here. We all rest and have a look on the large rock.

There it is, Gumi. My lovely city, sprawled out across the valley past the lake, nestled between low mountains. Unreal. Here we are, on top of the otherside of the world, and looking out over what we now call home.

Well the stairs and clear path stopped there. The next 1 km to the peak looked like a mush of snow, ice and treacherous falls. That was no day to conquer fears, so I parted with the group (who surprising to us all, decided to continue). Still having only 2 phones total, Gi gave me her phone for the later meetup.

I went down with Lindsay, having a nice chat all the way down to the trainstation, where, as luck would have it, we were just in time to meet Blake from the later train. More hugs! We went back to mine, enjoying a Cass in a can while we waited for news from the mountain. Eventually Libby, Kevin, and Sean joined us with beer and snacks, and we made my small room a hangout while trying to figure out what to do. The others had gone to the top, and we later hear that they lost a waterbottle over the ledge, were pitied and given a walking stick/pick by some Koreans, and had a very scary time of it.
We went to dinner. Pizza Hut--my second time that week. Funny how when all of us westerners get together at these moments, we tend to go with the familiar. Really, I think we all are just missing cheese way too much.

Either way, after pizza, we are still waiting so we go back to Jack's, where a Korean queen-size-more-like-a-double bed (lucky man) is all there is. Beyond the point of exhaustion, the 6 of us pile on like puppies, and doze and giggle and wait. The lack of hugs, of touch, of human contact we get as outsiders here starts to wear on you. These few moments of mammal warmth are so restorative. By the time Jack, Tom, Sarah, Lois and Laurie come find us, we are a mass of giggles trying to pretend to be asleep, having had little more than a brief nap, but nonetheless feeling well and hole and energized again.

We all sit around drinking poor-man's Gin and Tonics and discussing our night. Then we head to Waegook Cook with the sole purpose of getting jolly and watching a few Rugby Matches. It is a classic night of pitchers, burgers, hammer game, cheers, and good conversations. At this point I know enough other foreigners in this city to mingle and mix with many, but the best find is Laurie's childhood friend, Portia. She's been here 6months, knows all the inside tips, and in general, one cool lady down to be buds. YES! Facebook connects are made.

By the end of the last match and the last pitcher, it's about 4am. We all plan to take taxis (we need 3) to Gumi Yuk. Well, Lindsay, Blake and I are the odd ones left, and end up dancing our way back where we reunite. They all get street food from the favorite vendor outside the station--meat on sticks, bulgogi, rice cakes, etc. I pass. We all head across the train station and those going the few block's to Jack's part ways with vague plans for meetups the next morning.

Blake and I head back to mine. Two Americans speaking in an amalgamated mix of drunken accents we've picked up over the night. Thanks to my previous resident, we have plenty of blankets to give him a semi-soft surface on the heated floor. We have hoarse and colorful conversations of tragedies and romances we left behind--typical late night chats. Shared experiences, insights; moments where we transcend being new friend and become two people tapping into the depth that is the human experience. We estranged people, connecting in all the moments we find it possible.

The next morning, after a brief night's sleep, we feel fantastic. Hydrate in a hurry. Hoarse and hopeful, we made our way to Jack's. No answer. No phones. Two payphones across the trainstation later we looked at overstocked fish tanks and colorful parakeets in the window of a pet store and find a meetup point. We're a bedraggled bunch of foreigners in Da Vinci Coffee, enjoying lattes and waffles (finally!). But we needed real food at this point.

We walk through downtown Gumi, desparately looking for a place for some kind of dining we could all agree on. Didn't find it. Instead, found a chicken joint upstairs. Many Korean restaurants only serve one thing, really. This one was chicken. But they gave us all a watery soup (quite good, actually) and I after struggling to order, a few people had chicken dishes and I had the best french fries I've every eaten--ever! Then we were off to find a place for some Sunday drinks and not one bar was open. None. In our quest for Max, we walked all over downtown Gumi, through the open-air markets and shop-lined streets. We finally settled on gas station bottle of Max, our best beer friend, and sat on the floor at Jack's, watching various You Tube videos and enjoying some relaxed and worn-out convos.

Then, sadly, it was time for the weekend to end. We all parted ways at the train station. Hugs, some last touches of energy to tide us over until next time. Annyong, annyong.

These friendships here are so momentous--both in import and in the sense of the moment. We can waste no time. We can't carry any baggage. It is, instead, a collection of warm, open, honestconnections. Communities being built around the world. Without EPIK, we may never have met. Without facebook, we couldn't reconnect. This modern world helps us make it last.

Staff Meetings

In Korea, staff meetings are not announced through an office memo in advance. They are day-of telephone game pass alongs. Last Monday, my first Monday teaching, Kim Dong Il, Nicholas Cage in English (and my favorite of the English staff) told me to pass the news on to Woody that we'd be meeting that evening after school. Where? Don't know. Ok. By the end of the day we'd gleaned enough info to meet June in her mini car at the green-awninged convenience store on the corner of our street. She proceeded to drive Woody and I over Geumo San mountain, past hiking trails and campgrounds (note made) to a traditional-style duck restaurant. I figured this out by the banner displaying a row of easter-white ducks (live for once, not happy cartoons).

Inside, shoes off (yay for normal socks that day), red slipper sandals on. Into a large, extended room with three long rows of tables and--oh yes!--chairs! Each table had its own burner, several dishes of garlic, greens, kimchi of many colors, a sweet potato salad I personally destroyed, bottles of beer (Hite, not Max), Soju, and cider. The English teachers already posted up at the end of the far table. Sit. Drink. NO water for you, Alissa. No, you are new. Beer it is. No problem.
I wiped my hands with the wet towel. Waited around for the cue. Oh, I guess I missed it. Eat Eat! Ok ok!

We all stab and grab at the salads. Soon enough the host brings strips of duck to lay on the burner in front of me. Looks good. Still not interested. Then #1 (Principal big boss man) comes to say hello, welcome me and encourage me to eat eat eat that duck. Nos be damned, I still agreed. Waited for him to leave, then continued to eat everything meatless on the table. Rice came. Soup. And refill upon refill.

Introduction time. At a mic and platform at the front of the room, each new teacher (7 in all, me of course, saved for last) was called up to make a speech. Mine, with the interpretation aid of MaryAnne (Korean English coteacher) went a bit like this: Thanks so much! I'm so excited to be here. I'll do my best. I really look forward to eating with all of you in the cafeteria.
Good speech I'm told.
Eating continued. Then Soju time. Shots at the table. Shots traveling around. #1 and #2 come to each of us to be sure we toast. #1, never tiring of "bottoms up" and "cheers" spends a good minute with me. We mingle as much as we can mingle, but I stick mostly to the english teachers. But most of them clear out to take care of kids since they didn't have notice to arrange for childcare. This leaves Woody and I with several of our male coworkers, #1 and #2, and the wildest bunch of partying karaokeing lunch ladies I've ever seen.

Oh yea, #1 would not let me by without a song. So, after much soju and scanning the book, I convince him to come up with us. "8 Days A Week" a la Me, My Boss, and Woody with a bottle of Soju in Hand. We quite easily beat the Beatles in our version. A little time after, sitting at the table with wobbley versions of Kpop chart toppers as our soundtrack, the principal turns to me to and says, "Alissa. You are very good at drinking." Laughs laughs laughs. I'm pretty sure this man thinks I'm the coolest, craziest, strangest thing EPIK could have delivered. If not for my English degree and good grades, he might have turned me away on the spot--I'm glad I keep impressing him.

After a bit, apologies are continually given that this is not the best kind of party because it is too late notice and we have to quit early. A small group of male teachers and Woody and I vanned it down to the nicest norae bang I've been in. Blue lights and fruit plates and more soju.
I tambourined it up. Those teachers got perfect points on their karaoke too.
A call from Boram gave Woody and I a ticket to leave. She picked us up, dropped me off. I'm feeling fantastic and it's not even 10:30. What a night.

Next morning, bright and early, I meet the other teachers. A week of work--if you can call it that-- and we have coffee breaks and share sarcasms around the office. June constantly tells me I eat like a little kid (mostly because I like chocolate and ice cream so much) and I constantly complain about the crappy coffee. We eat fantastic korean lunches together in the cafeteria, sharing small bits of conversation with the non-english teachers, learning bits of the language and mastering the chopsticks, while June constantly says, "Alissa use your spoon." No one gets up until everyone at their table is finished--but if you're over the line on the next table, they leave you. If it's warm and nice we stroll by the mountain. It's a good dynamic.

Last Thursday they announced we would be having our English meeting after school. Again, by meeting, they meant dinner. Much milder this time, though. We crossed the street to some giant mushrooms that were really buildings. Shoes off. Crap. Neon-skull-halloween-socks day. No slippers. Those got me some laughs, thank you mom.
The four of us who were early sipped jasmine tea and pronged at the salads and kimchis while we wait for the rest. My favorite: pickeled lotus root. Sweet and tangy and delicious. They brought a huge bowl of fishy korean spaghetti (I can't even try to remember these names) and rice.
When everyone else made it, we hurriedly stood up for #1 and #2. Pops of the knees and back and then we're sitting right back down again.

This one was much more low-key. Of course I was already full but, eat eat. Korea's hospitality is making me fat for sure. Then followed the Hite and toasts. I'm a heroine, I was told. Awesome. I'll take it. I gave a little speech, promising to do my best (no lie!) and we make small talk about the school, and everyone acted quite comfortable.
I was in the middle of failing at picking up a piece of lotus when someone finally got my attention--I'd found that the principal and everyone else was standing up. Dinner is over. That's it. Done.
What about all that food? But no, when he's done, we leave. Protocol.
We trickled out. Many many thanks. I'm stuffed.

Woody and I walk home. The other teachers have to go back to school! they are there so much it must make them crazy. But they smile, laugh, joke and seem to really love the students. And every morning they are there before Woody and I. Always working hard, just punctuating it all with jokes and smiles.

Yesterday, shortly after I had helped MaryAnne with some editing (it's wonderful being the expert at something!), the computer speakers are turned up and an impromptu 5minute dance party is announced. Woody sits and laughs as June, MaryAnne, Lilly, Sarah (all various middle-ages of Korean women) and I dance and kick and jazzercize it out right in the middle of the English office. Guemo san mountain smiled at us through the window. That was my favorite 5 minutes of school so far. Awesome.
I'm bringing in an exercise ball to sit on at my desk. They all love it, think it's a ridiculous idea, and already have plans of kicking and throwing it all over the room.

Welcome to the English Office at Gyeongsanbuk-do Foreign Language High School.

dam near geniuses (haha, what a pun)

Alright, so my first week of teaching at Gyeongbuk Foreign Language High School is coming to a close. All of my classes are finished; Woody and I crossed the dam and took a hike around the lake after lunch, and all this misty mountainside is finally giving me the chance to be a bit reflective.

Back to day one: Tuesday, 8:20am I met Woody at the trash pile (no joke) between our apartments--best landmark we could think of. We walk farther away from downtown, to the edge of Gumi. Geumo-san looms tall over the dam, softer, fuzzier mountains surround us, and the school is there at the end of the street. Four-stories of red-brick and windows, little origami hedges everywhere. Walkways running between the Training institute (where I'll also work) the student dorms, cafeteria, and main school. The English office is on the 3rd floor, where I have a wonderful staff ow witty little korean coworkers, Woody, and a family of strange plants accenting my lovely view of the mountain (currently hugged in an eerie, ethereal sort of mist). I have my own desk, own computer (great since my laptop is broken; the SHIFT button sticks but I can backspace my yells away). I have my own room, the English Oasis, with a computer lab, a giant touch screen tv and maps, tables, comfy chairs, etc. We are serious about our learning.

So, first day, meet the rest of the teachers, besides June, my short and spunky Korean co-teacher (godmother more like). Then it's off to the opening ceremony. I sit next to June and Woody in the rows of teachers on the edges of the auditorium; All the 450+ students (we have a small, elite school in the province) are standing in rows in the middle. They wear uniforms. Giggle. Bow. And, most strange in a school setting: they cheer.
Speech-after-lulling-speech goes by (and I actually keep my eyes open, despite not understanding a word of it all, unlike many of my neighboring co-workers). Then, after all the big-boss men have had their say, after the Korean and school songs have been sung and a small student band performed, it is time to introduce the teachers.
New teachers first: We line up in a row on the stage, and one-by-one they call our name and we are to step forward. All the new Korean teachers step forward, do a quick bow while they are cheered, then step back. My name is called, I step up, give a sheepish wave, big ol' grin, then have my go at a bow. The kids go WILD. They scream for me like a rockstar. NEVER have I had so many little faces make me feel like MJ himself. Here I am, ready to teach. And there they are, little geniuses, so excited to learn.

After the assembly I had only one class for the day. All of my teaching for these two weeks at least will be shared with Woody. Then, we'll split each class and each of us will take 15, then swap half way through the semester. As a foreign language high school, the kids worked incredibly hard to get here (and thousands apply) and their english is damn near impeccable compared to highschools my peers will be working in. And, most exciting, is the fact that it is fairly laid back. No typed up lesson plans to turn in, no stuffy attire, no strict book or syllabus to follow. Our job, get the kids talking. After one week, it's been incredibly easy.
The high school is divided into grades 1,2 and 3 (sophomores to seniors). Each grade has 5 sections of 30 students, and depending on their focus--English, Japanese, or Chinese--we will see them either 1 or 2 times in a week. Grade 3, intensely studying for KSAT, only has English Conversation once/week.

So, this first week was all about introductions. Grade 1, new to Woody as well, we did a guessing game for them to find out valuable information about us (like blood type and our favorite Korean food) and in grades 2 and 3, since they already knew Woody, we let them play a question game where they got to drill me on basically anything they wanted. They talk, they listen, and aside from some seniors so exhausted from studying they're about to fall asleep, they genuinely seem engaged in the activity.

So far, they have cheered for us everytime we come to a class. They laugh at almost any witty bit of sarcasm or even the most simple jokes I throw their way. Things they all want to know about me: where did I get my hair done? Do I have a boyfriend? Do I have a brother? What do I think of Woody? What do I think of my Korean male teachers? What do I think of certain boys in the class? (the hormones really seem to be steering their mind in the direction of attraction here). But it's great. They are so easy to get along with, so easy to talk to--and understand.
And even outside of the class, the celebrity status continues. They all say hi, bow, and smile endlessly when I talk to them.

My coworkers are fantastic too. Super excited and impressed whenever I spout the two or three phrases of Korean I know. And I had a one-on-one with the princiPAL the other day. I'd dreaded walking in there after third period, but hopped on in. Sat in one of the huge cushy leather chairs across his table (super fancy) and chummed it up. We talked family, travels, studies. He gave me a red ginseng drink to make me strong and we practiced toasting and clanking our bottles. And all the while, he keeps stressing how excited he is to have me, how the school only gets the best, and how I need to be happy happy, no stress at all, make this my home for a year. And later, at lunch, he told all the other teachers how great and cheery I am. This place is feeling like one huge ego-trip. Welcome to Gumi.

We have fantastic authentic and fresh Korean food every day. We eat with the teachers. Take walks around the dam by the mountain after lunch. And Kim Dong Il (a coworker in the English dept) took me up to the roof yesterday where he escapes for his secret cigarette breaks (Woody didn't even get that treat). It's been easy to slip into feeling welcome here. And when I'm not teaching, I'm finally catching up on the internet I haven't got at home.

The banner over the entrance the first day read, "Congratulations! You are here all your dreams will come true." (Or something like that). Par for the course.

Familiar like home, and yet...

Night three in Gumi as successful as the first two. It's quite easy to run into people at the bars here--just like back in Manhattan. The last few days have been comfortably fun shifts between chaos and nothing with enough walking around to give me shin splints and soggy shoes. Lovin it.

Woody, my American team-teacher and guide to the world that is Gumi--has been taking me around with his Korean fiance, Boram. English-meets-Korean, midwest-meet-far east. Best of both worlds there. I helped them move from across the hall of my apartment to a much swankier setup a half block away. They have a sweet pad and roof access where we take breaks and have a great view of the town and mountain. Fully excited for future BBQs and sunbathing. Plans for a kiddie pool are already in the works.

The blessings of Boram are already unlistable. Besides her insight to Korean culture and patient translation, she acts as an interpreter. Already she helped me order a meatless menu at this wonderful pizza place. We sat on pillows in a room where soup, bread, pickles, salad, pizza, coffee and cheesecake were brought to us by impeccable service (which I'm still adjusting to not tipping for) that only cost around $12. She also has a car, which is invaluable here for taking me beyond downtown.
She and Woody took me to Lotte Mart- a massive 5-story Targetish buy-anything-you-could-imagine sort of place. After navigating our way through crowds of Koreans, whose cart traffic is as chaotic a system as their roadways, she drove me back to my place where I made my first peanut butter and jelly since leaving the states. Good lord did I miss my Skippy.

Woody's southern midwest nature fits right nice with me--and the friends they've shared with me seem fully ready and willing for anything I could offer. There's such a mix of personalities here, yet we all share one thing in common: we are open, honest, and 100% genuine from the get-go. No wasting time with drama or masks. Travelers, I have always believed, step outside of the pettiness that exists in the stagnant life; Korea is proving this to be truer than I could have imagined.

I've gone out and run into several other people from my EPIK class. The past two nights several of the guys met up at Waegu (foreigner) bars. Corona seems to be the place for me, right across the train station, a few blocks walk. There is a good mix of Koreans and foreigners, so I don't feel completely cut off from the culture there, and the owners are incredibly welcoming and excited to see us. And there is whiskey. Ah, what a break from Soju, even if it is a bit more expensive. Warms my soul. And decent music, and a bit of dance party seems to find its what in each night. I even managed a bit of Hula hooping last night. Made me miss my sistas back in Manhappening. But no longer O'Malley's Alley, Gumi is the place to be.

Saturday night I got my first real look at the intensity of Korean honor codes. Jack, a guy from Wales who was in my group, met me and we made friends with several English dudes who had been in town a lot longer. First Corona, then over to Mai Tai where we drank coctails from buckets, then back to Corona where we melded into a larger group of Western revelers. A Korean man named Kevin had gotten himself good and sloshed and was chummin up with the group of us. PLayed a bit of Jenga (oh that really reminded me of home) and watched as Kevin's wife waited, dozed, and waited. Sometimes she would join us a bit, but it was clear she was much more aware and ready to leave. Well, sadly Mister Kevin was not, took a swing at her (thank god he missed) and the Korean DJ (who I hear is typically mild mannered) took after Kevin. Fists-a-flew. And, being in the Western bar, western minds stepped in, and there were Jack and some very big English arms trying to hold the two back. They tood it outside, we tried to get Kevin to leave, and all he kept spouting was that he was going to kill him. Kill him. The DJ, bent on his own rules of honor, wanted to kill Kevin (who in everyone's eyes, deserved it). I am told he is known for beating his wife, which is appalling since she is there taking care of him, waiting on him, feeling shame like no one could believe and still being the supporting wife. It did not sit right with any of us. And there was Kevin, his mouth all bloody, trying to tell me that the DJ shamed HIM and would die for it.

Soju brings out the best and worst of men; travel all the way around the world and it's the same. If not for the foreign interference, I have no doubt those two would have battled it out to the end. It's an odd tension I'm trying to get my mind around, this country--and my province in particular--where there is no crime towards others, you can safely walk the streets alone, and yet, if someone feels their honor has been taken, they will turn with an intensity to reclaim it. It's not the same as bar fights back home where people drunkenly brawl out for no reason at all; there is a charge that drives them here, and will probably cause it to end in extremes. But, luckily for the group mentality here, no one outside is included. It is a contained sort of violence.

Aside from that one insident, which was in a sick way, quite thrilling (especially for Jack, who said he'd never been part of a proper fight in his life), peace abounds. In this city that is bustling, people seem to be laughing, enjoying themselves, weaving in and out of each other with no problem at all. The mist clings to the mountains, the temple peaks out of all the bustle of everyday life, and the neon and hello kitty bring cartoonish fun to everything. Easy to slip into, easy to become a part of. And ridiculously easy to move into the close-knit community of foreigners living within it all.

I start teaching tomorrow. Big day. I'm excited to meet my kids and work with Woody and my Korean coworkers. I know I can handle Gumi; I hope it is ready for me.

Finally Off the Boat

So I spent the last ten days in an amazing padded room of cultural squishiness--plenty of english with a sprinkle of korean. Schedule, food, comfort. Easy peasy. And apparently a few didn't even make it past the orientation before freaking out. They haven't come close to culture shock. But the past week where EPIK eased us into this place has been amazing. So many different, like-minded adventures, converging in one point. And then, in less than a day, they spat us out all over South Korea (puked is more like it, after all the soju). Talk about epic.
Well, as our quickly established bonds are being tested and stretched, we rush to make every possible connection(thank you facebook) and lock down everyone's location for future floors to crash (and how warm and cozy they are here).

Even though I don't allow myself disappointment, I was, I admit, giving into some doubts about this city in the middle of the mountains (goodbye, hopes of coast) that was only being described to me as "oh, there are many factories" (goodbye, hopes of nature).
We said our goodbyes, crammed onto a crunchy bus ride until we all met again at a rest stop. We said more epic goodbyes and headed for Gumi (the city I was destined for). We drove through the city that was looming dirtier and busier than ever, then suddenly cut over a dam to a lake in the mountains, little swan boats smiling at me. Bam. I was relieved that this, at least would be outside the city from me.
We eat our last bit of bibimbap in a traditional little mountain restaurant (that for some reason has a giant Kint Tut on the outside of it; still not getting the significance) and then, goodbyes again, load back onto the buses. Drive about 10feet and stop in a parking lot full of very scared looking Koreans waiting for us, names on signs (some, like mine, spelled wrong, some even upside down). Now we have arrived.

As if to reinforce our week's lesson, (Korea is dynamic) it is chaos. Where is the truck with our luggage, where is our coteacher, where are we going? My coteacher, June, a short spunky Korean woman was standing with Hank, another Korean teacher, much taller, under an umbrella. They met me, pointed across the parking lot (mountains, trees, lake, still in view) and said, "there is your school." Hot damn I about hugged her till her eyes burst, but remembering all lessons of social customs, bowed slightly, gave my best kamsahamida (still not sure about the romanization) and went about the business of getting my luggage.
Well, also remembering all of the emphasis on the importantance of first impressions in our training, I was mortified when they drove me over, freshly crumpled from the bus ride and an epic night of soju, to meet the Vice Principal. It went alright, I guess. hope. I met the rest of the English department, including Cara (the girl I'm replacing) and Woody (my savior and guide).
These first few introductions have me more excited by the minute. The highschool I was dreading is apparently the best possible placement. I am teaching with Woody, an American who's been there a year already. It's a foreign language high school (described here as geniuses), and it is very relaxed (in dress code, too, woot woot!) I went to a traditional Korean meal with June, Maryanne and Woody in a shack on the floor. We laugh easy.
I'm in a small, cozy-with-character apartment. It is loaded with stuff leftover from Cara and teachers-past (including 4 hair driers; no idea what I'm supposed to do with those). There is a close-knit Waego (foreigner) presence I have already been introduced to.
Last night we made it to the Waego bar. I played the hammer game (going around driving nails in with the wrong side of the hammer) and came out on top--shots shots shots for South Korea. It's going to be good.