Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Saturday, October 9, 2010
gathering for dancing!!!
SoKo has delivered me some great shows. Headin to Seoul today for Global Gathering. It's gonna be sick.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
killing me softly with kpop
killing me loudly rather. or slowly.
ok, not at all, actually. But lord does kpop get under the skin. Walk down Daegu downtown, through all the skincare kimbap jewelry clothes cellphone shops and you get a blaring mashup of the top four kpop songs of the moment. KPOP is NOW!!! No, no it's really not. Please, please stop. Or just turn down the volume. Even with headphones in, volume blaring the Fleet Foxes in a force-field of folk goodness, bop-ee-bop-ee-bop-ee invades. kpop invasion in my earlobes, in my brain, jarring my bones...GAH! Paired with the blaring neon, the streets are alive, raging like a coke fiend, or rather more like a kid on a serious sugar rush who just added some pop rocks and orange soda to the mix, the whole thing bubbling over in a noisy vomit of color and fizzle.
Rant aside, let me more rationally devote a bit of time to the abrasive quality of the national music of the plastic-for-the-masses culture in the ROK.
I may be a total music snob, but I am not a discriminant one. If there is talent--even at the production level--I am not too good to admit to enjoying a song. I am not above movin my hips to Lady Gaga just because she is popular or throwing up my arms and shoutin for Shots! However, there is a bit more to talent that being the face in front of--or programming behind--a catchy tune. At some level, I would hope for creativity. But, like many things in mass-produced and fast-tracked manufactured pop-culture, once you find a formula that works you will use it use it use it til its useless. Pair that mentality with a trend-following community culture that drives Korea and bam: Enter KPOP. KPOP is like a drug for the blinking neon masses. Give them beats that are familiar, an addictive and contagious phrase and you've got the next soundtrack for the boys outside of SK(one of the many cellphone stores).
But KPOP definitely doesn't thrive on sound alone--the image is its lifeblood. All young, beautiful, reconstructed teen and twenty-somethings. As plastic as the music they're attached to. The men look like women, the women look like barbies. They all defy the conservative leanings of Korean culture and ooze sex through the hair extensions and very high-reaching fishnets. So what? So what if it's sexy? I don't really care about that as much, except when its the girls who are about 15--but that's really no different than Miley is it?
Well, how about the fact that half of them already have had plastic surgery. How about the fact that they are rail thin, completely made-up, and promoting the standard of beauty that the Korean public can literally only achieve by going under the knife. As if plastic surgery wasn't popular enough in Korean culture, let's have the very pop stars they all adore act as walking adverts for it...
And then there's the dancing. Man, look at them move--boys and girls alike, they are poppin lockin throbbin and doin a kind of rhythm most white boys couldn't acheive even with the tutelage of a master like Mr. Miyagi. But Koreans CAN do it. My highschool students have them memorized--they get up and teach me the moves in class. Perfectly. Maybe I'm just bitter because I can't mirror those stars. No, that's a copout excuse. I think--I know--that I'm bitter because the dances are taking away the freedom of movement. Even dancing has been over-directed, simplified, and produced by the kman.
All these factors culminate in the KPOP performance. The examples I've seen--live at festivals, on stage in the streets, on tv, and in the internet videos my students love to share--are laughable. Big lights, big sound, big color, lots of skin, lots of dancing...lots of lip syncing. KPOP songs couldn't exist without the vocoder, and KPOP performances couldn't exist without the play button. Flash shake smile distract.
I'll admit that American popstars are just as fabricated, just as mass-marketed, just as damaging to the average female's body image, and quite often just as bad, but that brings me to the real issue, the real difference in the KPOP scene--where the money goes. It's no secret that the cast of KPOP allstars are grossly underpaid (in comparison with other celebrities, and in proportion to their monetary worth). These faces, young, often Korean-Americans who are swept back to their Motherland with promises of stardom, gain the immediate screaming loyalty of fans, cha-ching of commercial deals and guaranteed sell-out crowds that keeps the Won signs in their producers eyes blinking neon bright. And they get such little cuts of the enormous amounts of revenue they bring in, that there are even lawsuits and group breakups over the control held over the group members. The beloved 2PM boy group is no more because of such a breakup, news given to me through the tears of one of my high school students.
So it's disgusting to me, the control that the men with money hold over Korean pop culture while keeping so much of that profit for themselves-- they get cheap hot labor to sing and dance for them, screaming young fans to crowd dance buy move wear whatever they are told, they get cellphones skincare clotheslines chicken shops--you name it to--begging to be allowed to purchase those faces to sell their products, and they get the perpetual anxiety of an entire nation of people who feel they will never be pretty skinny western white enough. Won Won Won for the money, two for the show, three to get ready (you know the rest) The big Kman won.
So, in honor of my rant, here are some catchy links to kpop videos for your viewing pleasure:
soon to come: a post devoted to musical experiences in Korea I actually enjoy...
ok, not at all, actually. But lord does kpop get under the skin. Walk down Daegu downtown, through all the skincare kimbap jewelry clothes cellphone shops and you get a blaring mashup of the top four kpop songs of the moment. KPOP is NOW!!! No, no it's really not. Please, please stop. Or just turn down the volume. Even with headphones in, volume blaring the Fleet Foxes in a force-field of folk goodness, bop-ee-bop-ee-bop-ee invades. kpop invasion in my earlobes, in my brain, jarring my bones...GAH! Paired with the blaring neon, the streets are alive, raging like a coke fiend, or rather more like a kid on a serious sugar rush who just added some pop rocks and orange soda to the mix, the whole thing bubbling over in a noisy vomit of color and fizzle.
Rant aside, let me more rationally devote a bit of time to the abrasive quality of the national music of the plastic-for-the-masses culture in the ROK.
I may be a total music snob, but I am not a discriminant one. If there is talent--even at the production level--I am not too good to admit to enjoying a song. I am not above movin my hips to Lady Gaga just because she is popular or throwing up my arms and shoutin for Shots! However, there is a bit more to talent that being the face in front of--or programming behind--a catchy tune. At some level, I would hope for creativity. But, like many things in mass-produced and fast-tracked manufactured pop-culture, once you find a formula that works you will use it use it use it til its useless. Pair that mentality with a trend-following community culture that drives Korea and bam: Enter KPOP. KPOP is like a drug for the blinking neon masses. Give them beats that are familiar, an addictive and contagious phrase and you've got the next soundtrack for the boys outside of SK(one of the many cellphone stores).
But KPOP definitely doesn't thrive on sound alone--the image is its lifeblood. All young, beautiful, reconstructed teen and twenty-somethings. As plastic as the music they're attached to. The men look like women, the women look like barbies. They all defy the conservative leanings of Korean culture and ooze sex through the hair extensions and very high-reaching fishnets. So what? So what if it's sexy? I don't really care about that as much, except when its the girls who are about 15--but that's really no different than Miley is it?
Well, how about the fact that half of them already have had plastic surgery. How about the fact that they are rail thin, completely made-up, and promoting the standard of beauty that the Korean public can literally only achieve by going under the knife. As if plastic surgery wasn't popular enough in Korean culture, let's have the very pop stars they all adore act as walking adverts for it...
And then there's the dancing. Man, look at them move--boys and girls alike, they are poppin lockin throbbin and doin a kind of rhythm most white boys couldn't acheive even with the tutelage of a master like Mr. Miyagi. But Koreans CAN do it. My highschool students have them memorized--they get up and teach me the moves in class. Perfectly. Maybe I'm just bitter because I can't mirror those stars. No, that's a copout excuse. I think--I know--that I'm bitter because the dances are taking away the freedom of movement. Even dancing has been over-directed, simplified, and produced by the kman.
All these factors culminate in the KPOP performance. The examples I've seen--live at festivals, on stage in the streets, on tv, and in the internet videos my students love to share--are laughable. Big lights, big sound, big color, lots of skin, lots of dancing...lots of lip syncing. KPOP songs couldn't exist without the vocoder, and KPOP performances couldn't exist without the play button. Flash shake smile distract.
I'll admit that American popstars are just as fabricated, just as mass-marketed, just as damaging to the average female's body image, and quite often just as bad, but that brings me to the real issue, the real difference in the KPOP scene--where the money goes. It's no secret that the cast of KPOP allstars are grossly underpaid (in comparison with other celebrities, and in proportion to their monetary worth). These faces, young, often Korean-Americans who are swept back to their Motherland with promises of stardom, gain the immediate screaming loyalty of fans, cha-ching of commercial deals and guaranteed sell-out crowds that keeps the Won signs in their producers eyes blinking neon bright. And they get such little cuts of the enormous amounts of revenue they bring in, that there are even lawsuits and group breakups over the control held over the group members. The beloved 2PM boy group is no more because of such a breakup, news given to me through the tears of one of my high school students.
So it's disgusting to me, the control that the men with money hold over Korean pop culture while keeping so much of that profit for themselves-- they get cheap hot labor to sing and dance for them, screaming young fans to crowd dance buy move wear whatever they are told, they get cellphones skincare clotheslines chicken shops--you name it to--begging to be allowed to purchase those faces to sell their products, and they get the perpetual anxiety of an entire nation of people who feel they will never be pretty skinny western white enough. Won Won Won for the money, two for the show, three to get ready (you know the rest) The big Kman won.
So, in honor of my rant, here are some catchy links to kpop videos for your viewing pleasure:
soon to come: a post devoted to musical experiences in Korea I actually enjoy...
Monday, September 6, 2010
digging the summer from under my nails
School is back on. Summer is officially over--the free weeks, not the heat. We're still melting, bitching and moaning about the humidity, relying too heavily on air-cons and paparazziing our weekend adventures. The parties are back to being punctuated by days of desk-warming and repeat-after-mes to smooth away the engrish ingrained in the over-worked brains of Korea's youth.
I missed my students, my coteachers, my school. It's good to be back.
I miss summer already.
Beaches, mud, festivals, Beijing...the last few months have overloaded me with new friends, crazy visions and more dancing than even I thought possible (is that possible?).
International BBoy Championships, International Graffiti Festival, Seoul: July 3-4
Heading up to Seoul for a weekend with the girls, we watched poppers and lockers and breakdancers battle it out onstage while beats were delivered from some top djs from around the world. All of Korea's dance traditions were brought together in an amazing performance of popping, locking, traditional drumming, martial arts, breaking and even some fans to bring it all together. Best cultural display I've experienced in Korea.
We walked by a river where graffiti artists climbed ladders to tag their soul onto Seoul cement. We sipped coctails in the sky above the lights and noise of one of the great sprawl of the city. Our version of a funkified sex and the city weekend--just Seoul instead of New York, flipflops instead of prada heels. Love my girl time.
Boryeong Mud Festival: July 17-19
A soju-filled bus ride delivered our crew to the West coast waters of Daecheon beach in the middle of the night. Small town, huge waves, loads of white people. We crammed into over-booked, under-cooled motel rooms, two on the floor, two on the cement bed. Shared our bunks with mosquitos. Woke up to rain, wind, and giant waves. Didn't stop us from finding the mud. We slid, wrestled, hosed and painted. Walked around in wild colored war paint--intox and detox all at once, hail the amazing powers of Boryeong mud. Rode waves and fought to survive and celebrated our exhausted triumph with 30+ bottles of makoli the restaurant owner kept going and purchasing from the store for us. Woke up to a sunny day and kissed our dirty bodies goodbye to return to inland civilization.
Pohang Fireworks Festival: July 25-26
Five of us cram into a car late Friday night and roadtrip up the east coast in search of the penis park. We stop in several small, dark towns, knock on doors of minbaks (guest houses), are turned away no-room-in-the-inn style (poor Mary, how we empathize), and finally end up on a cliff about a small port town in a shining-esque motel with an empty front desk and a vending machine for room keys. Not sure about the size and worth, we snag a key left on the desk and sneak into a room, crumpled from the one-hour bookings notorious in rumors of Korea's seedy hush-hush sex scene. Whack in our 50,000won, three in bed, two on floor, giant splooge stain next to me on the headboard (lovely reminder of what awaits us in the morning...). The coast is beautiful, the penis park is hilarious. An actual park like many others, with traditional pagodas, shrines, yet this one is teeming with phalluses--including a ten foot penis statue we all rode like a bull and a moving penis cannon. Also including a recreated whore-house with a man pile-driving a woman in a room scattered with old currency, a man in the next room counting it all up, and a little boy peeking in on them through a window. All with unnecessary detail. The visiting Koreans laughed just as much as we did. Conservative culture my ass.
We left for Pohang, in time to spend a bit of time with the crew on Bukbu beach-ee. Posco, the steelworks factory that juts out across the right side of the beach, usually offers little more than an industrial rape of the scenery and the potential development of a superpower for all of us who swim in its toxic waters. But this weekend, Posco offered an explosive celebration to make any July 4th display jealous. 87,000 fireworks set off in one hour. Massive. Four countries were competing with their displays, Korea, of course won (we all thought Japan deserved it, but that would NEVER happen here)and a bonus KPOP girl group performance. Thousands of Koreans crammed onto the river walk, streets, hills, all standing there, not oooing and aaahing at all. Just crammed, craned people, clapping when performances ended. Very un-Korean, considering their screams an wails even at seeing someone cute on the screen in the classroom.
Required night of Pohang makoli revelry brought us back to Bukbu, where late night swimming and dancing in the sand led us into the morning. A beautiful, explosive weekend in so many ways.
Jisan Rock Festival: July 31-Aug 2
Early Friday a few of us bused up north to the mountain resort of Jisan. Instead of a ski lodge, the valley had been converted to camping rock festival and cancun spring break. Away from straight-line, back-to-back tent city, people set up camp in every odd bit of land they could grab in the trees. We staked our claim in a flower bed, sleeping in the tiger lilies and a forest filled with spiders. We beat the heat in the giant pool they had built at the bottom of the ski slopes (massive!!!) and rolled and battled on giant inflatable toys when we weren't sipping mojitos (REAL lime and mint!!!) poolside. Saw some amazing Korean bands that didn't play Kpop. Got up front and rocked out to Belle and Sebastian, Vampire Weekend (BEST), Massive Attack, Pet Shop Boys, and others. Spent three glorious days rocking out in the ROK: great DJs, danced like wild animals with the fire dancers at the Poi Stage, painted faces and bodies, buckets of tequila, foam dance tents and more. Made poetry in a creek with a bunch of amazing Koreans. Bailed on the midnight bus home to stay another night for the best treasure: I stumbled upon a circle of Koreans in the empty main stage field. We grew to about 25 for a Monday morning sing-along, our harmonies boosted by the free end-of-festival booze and the charge still pulling us through the weekend.
It was a very crunchy Monday, all of us traveling home, wordless, brain-dead. Amazing.
Beijing: Aug 3-10
The other highlight of Beijing was when our group of four became two and Kevin and I, eagerly trying not to waste our last day, had an adventure searching out, and being rewarded by finding, the 798 Art District. We strolled through an old converted industrial section of the city. Factories-cum-galleries. Cafes in tree tops. The entire place was an interactive walk of eye candy. There were sculptures everywhere outside, from a giant train, giant Stalin heads, Giants in cages...it was awesome. We walked, climbed, touched, posed for an unimaginable amount of photos, and finally fled the head to a standing-only bus back to the city, back to the haggling of Silk Street.
There's so much more to tell. So much of the city we didn't even see. I can't believe we were going to try and cram both Beijing and Shanghai in one week. Never would have worked. So glad we stayed. Kevin and I really lucked out having that extra day with all we were able to cram into it.
My impression of Beijing was one where past-present-future all collide into a wild and quite interesting study of humanity. The service was terrible, the bathrooms disgusting (I opted for the alley several times after walking in on 6-squatting shitting woman with no stalls to divide them), and we were melting and dripping in the heat the entire time, but we forgive these things, or add them to the flavor of the experience. Beijing was refreshingly diverse--clothing, body type, behavior, structure...It was impressively successful in its chaos.
Bag checks and cameras and metal detectors were constant reminders of regulation, but other than that, it was not the cold hard communist place people invision it to be.
Amazing week. Exhausting, dirty week. It was nice not getting stared at all the time, nice not feeling like a fat cow in a field of gazelles. But I was surprised I found myself very excited to be back in Korea, another land of plastic--but at least plastic smiles and toilet seat covers ^_^
Handsome Furs concert, Daegu: Aug 12
Another amazing night taking down Daegu with Gi and Kelly. Started with dance-juice in a bag (really strong stuff!) from vinaroo, then headed to a club: Teengirl Fantasy (DJ pair from Chi-town) and Handsome Furs danced us into the morning. I got to talk to them for a while at the bar (amazing stories to be shared, really cool people). The epic night (as they always are) ended with us passed out waiting for the am train on the steps of Lotte Dept. store. Laughing the hole way back to Gumi.
Seoul for skin and ska: Aug 14-15
So sick of rice. I miss bread and whiskey and the prairie, so I've got an ode to it tattooed on my back now. Went up to Seoul for the ink with Gi. Spent the day in a tattoo parlor with the boys of B2K (some old R&B group from Cali), watching WWF on one of their laptops. That was painful, the needles weren't.
Jisan reunions followed, catching the end of a Korean ska band and getting drinks with beautiful souls in Seoul. Ran into about 5 different people from the festival. The universe keeps running us into each other.
International Body Painting Festival, Daegu: Aug 29
One of the tamer festivals I've been to in awhile, full of Eye Candy, painted bodies, painted faces, painted nails. We sat on the grass and watched belly dancing, martial arts, norae, mamma mia shouts, and walked around to see the artists marking magic on naked bodies. Quite cool to see.
Followed by the usual Daegu revelry. After a vinaroo pitstop reunited me with some pohangers with paint, I found myself in a colorful crowd: I as an anime doll, with a pirate, a cow, a cherry blossom, some varicose-veined cheeks and a cat. We were about the only ones downtown at night with face paint, and a few odd looks would bring a reminder through the blur that we were quite a site that evening. Sunday brought the discovery of an English commune for hippy expats--a bookstore, organic cafe, clothes-swapping, yoga-teaching, drum-circling top floor of goodness. I will return.
Daegu Wants to Funk: September 4
Finally, a theme party worth getting dolled up for (though my Manhattan crew threw theme parties to put these expat-korean born dress parties to shame). BUT we got our headbands on, shiny tights, bangles, glammed and glittered up our faces and we ladies strut the town to meet at JEEEP (by far our favorite bar in Daegu). Thank you, my dear Mr. Sean Cridge who got the party to happen. Funk and disco ruled the night (except for an odd hour where a different dj took over for a bit. boo) and I am proud to say I lasted til 6 am in leather leggings and my 2nd night of heels in Korea. Smokin!
Three of us ended up in a makoli bar with some random koreans, enjoying squid and peppers and drinking from bowls until the sun came up.
There is an expat summer in-brief. So much more happens. There are too many quirky stories to keep up with, but here we are, celebrating, learning, living...mostly celebrating ^_^
Korea has been kind to us, and while we bemoan our lack of things from home, we revel enough to fill those holes. I make it a goal, everywhere we go, to get some kind of cultural event and some kind of partying in (usually heavier on the latter), and I'm doing a damn good job of it. Experience so much we can't even sleep.
I'm really happy here--a sustained happiness plateau that I've been riding for the past year or so. At this point, I don't feel like I'm doing much growing over here in Korea, just living and getting to know what it means to be a part of these different cultures--westerner, weagook, korean, human. Livin it UP! (And while I'm here, what better way to spend my time than enjoy it, eh?) We are the rockstars in this country--for the locals and expats alike. We gather and build and let loose a storm of excitement wherever we go. Say kimchi.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
powerful little collisions
a few weeks ago, under explosions in the sky of pohang and swimming rivers of makoli that fed into bukbu beach, I met a really fantastic man visiting friend here in SoKo. Connections ensued, and for two weeks our paths collided in the skies of gimcheon and in the woods of jisan and now he is off and away in saipan.
in jisan I found more. I ran into an EPIK guy, from orientation, whose name was less memorable than his face, and somehow through smiles and cocktail bag chats our paths converged through the maze of the festival.
and then there were the gyeongsaners i found beneath an umbrella toasting me with buckets and enticing me under their shade to catch up, but instead of catching up, my saipan friend and i followed a diversion down to the creek where our universes crashed head-on with Hoon and Junghwa and Hong, where tequila sunrise and moleskine notebooks presented an arena for some truly epic wandering and wondering. I saw them again this weekend, reunited by a jisan band and the bars of seoul. seoul for the soul, this therapy in the form of conversation and poetry session in a red-boothed bar.
and then there was the pink-haired british pin-up, who I only briefly reconnected with walking down the streets of Seoul, opposite ways, but both stopping for a shout and cheers to our shared memory
and then I revisited the morning, the sunrise service of Jisan, where i met rob and becca, both from different groups, brought together by our circle of singing and drinking koreans enjoying sunrise setting on our festival. becca who danced and ran for drinks with me, i bumped into Saturday night in Hongdae while out with the Hoon and Junghwa, my other Jisaners. And amazed faces said it all just then. and then Mr. Rob, British Rob, with the smile-big-for-life face, just as familiar in Sunday afternoon revelry as he was in Monday morning revelry at Jisan, I ran into him at an Irish Pub in Itaewon.
and then the man getting the rat tattoo while B2K were waiting or their ink, bumped into us on the street the next day, the pain still fresh in his eyes, with some local know-how to get to the yuk (station).
these are not all of them. not even close. Here, I mostly have the recent, recurring ones. The ones in this past month that have rocked me, and them, enough to make a lasting note in each of our lives. I'll give em a whole post ^_^
Almost 49million people in this country, and yet we bounce around and run into each other like charged little molecules, gravity and whatever ions we need to exchange pulling us back into each other again and again. I love the smallness and infinite vastness of this world. I love that I can have a thirty minute conversation with a complete stranger and know that we will both carry it with us, impacted by our words and shared energy for as long as we need to remember it. Even when he's off in Saipan, or she's swallowed up again in Seoul, they carry a bit of me with them.
x
On a side note, it has been ages--AGES, I get it!-- since I have last posted. Sorry. SoKo never stops, never sleeps, and so neither do I.
Quick recap, then revisits, I promise:
Shows I've been to: Major Lazer, International Breakdancing Competition, and Korean Ska Band in Seoul. Pinnacle the International Hustler, and Funk and Soul DJ set in Busan. Hood Internet, Teengirl Fantasy, Handsome Furs in Daegu. Jisan Valley Rock Festival, including Belle and Sebastian, Vampire Weekend, Massive Attack, Pet Shop Boys, Muse, 3rd Eye Blind, a Korean Marley cover band, foam dance tents, a giant pool, sunrise sing-alongs, etc!!!
Festivals: Boryeong Mud Festival (craziest, muddiest party I've ever been to), Seoul International Graffiti festival, Busan Sandcastle festival, some Daegu art festival, Pohang Fireworks festival, Jisan rock festival...I feel like I'm missing some...
And I can't leave out Beijing--7 glorious days exploring past-present-future crammed into one of the most interesting cities I've ever been in. Phew.
School starts this week, but the fun don't stop (but playing around with the language and using poor grammar will...)
Friday, June 4, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
beware the yellow dust
This last weekend was a 24 hour excursion to the East all over again. Our Gumi group went out for Japanese fish fry, light on the Soju and Max, then some Baskin Robbins on Friday night. We had to keep it calm; big day planned saturday.
We met the next morning at Dunkin Donuts by the Gumi Yuk (train station, usual place). Time for some coffee, water, munchkins, tickets. 8 of us, plus Portia and Jackie, all made our way into our various seats on the 9am train to Daegu.
I am sitting next to Jack, when a glowing westerner diagonally behind me compliments the dreads--she always wanted them, I'm all-too-excited to share, leaning across the aisle to talk. Strike one. Attendant comes up, leans over us, moving both hands down-wards, telling us to lower our voices. Ok, wasn't so sure I was being loud. I move back to the empty seat next to her, offer to share some munchkins, to which she delivers the fantastic news she is a practicing vegan--living RIGHT near Gumi. How refreshing to have some insight to an even more hard-core veg lifestyle.
Warm feelings are abounding as we share a hippied-out conversation about our grappling with the culture, the gender imbalances, the double standards. Then, strike two: the male conductor comes up to us. Tells us, we 'women' need to be quiet. No speaking. Ha, go figure. The irony of him handing us our examples of the very issues we are discussing. Well, our shared grasping for understanding, our shared excitement for this connection, only became heightened when she told me she was on her way to a Nonviolence seminar in Daegu. Oh, the positive reinforcement and direction that brief, timely seat assignment gave me. As we parted ways, me to a touristy bull-fight festival (oddly unashamed by this) and her to a community of soul-searchers I plan to connect to, we have the surity of a facebook connection, two names written on small papers. The next day, we were "friends"--isn't technology wonderful?
Well, thirty minutes later, we rush to find the #18 Banwoldang station exit. There is none, and rushing, we follow other westerners into the too-warm-so-much-for-the-rainboots weather of Daegu. There are some hundred+ westerners, milling about, waiting next to the buses of the Deagu friendship tour we joined up with. Tourism it is today. And, like all large tours, it began with a lot of waiting. We sat on the buses, were fed sandwiches (delicious sandwiches with real mayo and real bread) before we even left. But finally, we rolled out. Watched the colorfully dingy Korean country-side roll by, listening to various representatives we had grouped togetther: from the quite and respectful to the outright drunk and belligerent. By the time stopped at small area of Cheongdo, the group was filing up a dusty path towards a giant wine bottle in front of a tunnel, and like everything else in Korea, not too sure what we were doing, but just following. Following following following.
The wine tunnel, a converted old train tunnel, specialized in sweet persimmon wine (not a fan). They filed is down the dark corridor into rows of tables, where the random Korean travelers took video on their phones of all the white people eating saltines and american slices and wishing for more wine. But we walked down the dripping dark, past giant lit-up casks of wine, past a bottle-mid-pour made entirely of lights. All the way to the blue glowing end, gated off, where you could peer in at all the barrels. Turn around, walk back. Mingle with other westerners, say "hello" everytime some little Korean child got excited and waved. Not sure what was more of the attraction for them: the wine or us. Us. Hands down.
Filed into the bus again, rode for a while into steeper cuts of the mountains, looking very similar to the woods of Appalachia. And then we hit the line of traffic--cars and cars, Korean versions of tailgating? Stalls for selling, parking, etc. And the buses travel past the stadium, where banners of two raging bulls, backed by red or green, and the festival is booming. Our driver wheels us into some treacherous, traffic-stopping 5-point turns, passers-by getting out to help and all, until we finally just get out and walk the rest of the way through the carts and cars of Koreans, into the stadium. Street food accents every few steps--whole chickens, brown-sugar pancakes, roasted chestnuts, rice, silkworms. Dust. People. Soju. Gas. Rain. Despite the mill of noise, the chaos of color and Hangul and cartoon mascot security guards, the nose is the most overwhelmed.
Once we get into the stadium, our group splits a bit. Jack, Matt, Sean, Kevin and I go in search of beer. We find Max and Soju in a side-stall hof just inside the stadium (not inside the actual arena). We quickly order soju to share from dixie cups and Max, yo-gi-o to the waitress, who quickly becomes our friends. They bring us food, potato-leek cakes, kimchi, soup, radish. Even extra toats--on the house. Wee-ha-yeos (sp?) all around. Gum-bae's with photos. Kids from a table away come for pictures, to give us gifts.
After feeling like we'd made the insiders-club at the races, we work our buzzing bodies through the crowd of festivities, past paper-mache horns and drag-queens on stage, into arena to find the bulls, horns locked at the bottom, two handlers giving them periodic whips to rile them into action. There is no action. Apparently we have come in time for the standstill of the bulls, and despite the announcer's prompting applause from the many Koreans in the room, I actually doze off a bit. Waking up in time to find the bulls still locked. How anyone watches this all day, two bulls just pushing at each other, is beyond me. But eventually one breaks and runs away, the territory and title claimed by the stouter.
Enough of that, we go back to the hof. More soju, more Max, even more salad, kimchi, soup, smiles. It is a grand escape from the rains and wind that have finally hit Cheongdo (I knew my wellies were going to come in handy at SOME point).
The day's events over, we head back to the bus, street food replaced by plastic, dampness setting in over our buzz. Bus ride to Daegu, plans for the evening, but we still lose 4 of our group once we make it to Daegu, where it is already dark, and appears to be misty (though later, we find the truth). Portia, with the best idea yet, leads us on a hunt for a sauna before a night out.
After following the red neon SA-OO-Nuh, we find the jjimjilbang, the bath house. Downstairs, pay 4,000won, get a handsized towel. Men through one door, women the other. See you in an hour. Portia and I walk in, put shoes in a locker. Get a key for another. Strip down all the way. I am surprised at how nonchalant I am feeling towards all this--maybe six various aged, various shaped, Korean women are walking around the locker area in various states of dress. Portia and I, entering the sauna, are the only white women, I the only with ink. Some stares, but few. And it is quite. We shower, then sit in a hot tub for a while. We connect, share, chat in the most basic, laid-back way. I can't handle the heat. Move to the warm, still pool. After a bit, on to a round pink-watered one. There are women scrubbing themselves with gloves; Koreans have an obsession with exfoliation, proven by the many infomercials. Others sit and shave, or just simply soak--like us--turning into jelly. Portia and I move into a hot-stone room, scrub ourselves with salt and commense detoxing. Back out for a rinse, one more hop in. Shower off, then back to the common room to freshen up.
By the time we meet the boys back outside, we are all feeling a bit like wet noodles, starved as hell, with Indian food and nothing else on the brain. As the streets of Daegu begin to fill up, all the Koreans that pass have their mouths covered, either by masks, or with fingers and sleeves. Can't be us, we just bathed, right? First real clue to the dust.
We find our Welcome India, second floor, veils and tapestries and low lights. Stuff ourselves on curry and naan for a good price, and feeling the drag of pure relaxation, try to rally ourselves for the night.
First stop: Billybowl. Billiards-bowling, drinking, fun. No fun for me, or Kevin. Too stuffed for anything. Give it a bit of time. There are too-young-looking westerners, obvious army rats, a few daeguers we recognize from the bus. Finally, we move out. Onto the streets, where the fog is thicker, the wind is stronger, and we are finally admitting that this must be the ominous yellow dust we had heard rumors of. Didn't think that'd be coming until later.
Wind down the streets to GoGo. Have a vinyl coctail (a beautiful invention, like a giant capri-sun for grown ups) and dance to a terrible dj while the boys play pool. The place is full of westerners, poorly-phrased english signs, and too much britney spears. We move on. It is at this point that Jack, Sean and Matt puss out, head for the train, and Portia, Kevin and I are left in the dust.
The next stop, a blessing, is the Lonely Heart's Commune Club. A chill waegook bar, downstairs, lined with vinyls (records this time), my first taste of some good music (Dylan, Phoenix, Avett Bros, to name a few), my first night of healthy pours of Jameson. Quiet, slightly seedy, indie-enough to appreciate without feeling too cliche. Good break from the kpop. It is here, where we have a nice, quite, meaningful chat.
Here where I realize the dust has stolen my voice, and between pushing it out and slipping into whispers, and just plain listening, I have the second best reminder of who I am. Kevin, in an unexpected shift from excitement for life and party, shares the worry that he does not want to be stagnant. ME EITHER! In all of this miraculous, fun-loving, drama-free experience--all of this shared culture, we cannot let ourselves forget what it means to grow, to share, to learn, to touch. We cannot forget to process all of this, and give back through it. Kevin's direction of the conversation, and meeting Lina on the train that morning, were such refreshing reminders, and materializations of the same worries I myself had been having. We will support and remind ourselves not to get lazy in mind and spirit.
After some good, quiet escape into our minds, the three of us head out to lose them again at Where's Bob, for a failed 80s night, where we are the only ones dancing and the music is never loud enough, and an ambulance is brought for a true drunken bastard who couldn't even stay in his stool. Duck out of that one as well.
Final stop: Club Frog. Fitting, since, after walking through all the yellow, I sound like one myself. We stand in line for a minute, pay a small cover, stuff our bags in a locker and break into the sweaty dark surging mass of Koreans that is the dance floor. BEATS. beats. real beats, not kpop. A constant flow never letting you catch your breath and we rage and dance through black and blue lights, packed like rice cakes, smashed up against each other. Occasionally we find the room to show off some steps, occasionally we find a bit of air to breath, but mostly, it's just beats, sweat and bodies. Glorious.
We have to duck out to catch the 4am train back to Gumi. As soon as we leave, soaked, red, sore, all the charge leaves us. We become zombies, dying for water, trudging to the train. Once in a while, exhaling a "man that was awesome," but never getting much more than that. Sink into the car, force ourselves to stay awake for another half an hour, then crash crash crash till Monday comes.
The craziest, most hectic 24 hours since I have been to Korea. We started out as tourists, and somehow transitioned all the way through to dust-hardened, train riding residents, stumbling back to our apartments like we've done this for years. We are here in Korea. We are learning it and living it. Inhaling the dust, breathing out battered syllables; ingesting it and making it our own.
We met the next morning at Dunkin Donuts by the Gumi Yuk (train station, usual place). Time for some coffee, water, munchkins, tickets. 8 of us, plus Portia and Jackie, all made our way into our various seats on the 9am train to Daegu.
I am sitting next to Jack, when a glowing westerner diagonally behind me compliments the dreads--she always wanted them, I'm all-too-excited to share, leaning across the aisle to talk. Strike one. Attendant comes up, leans over us, moving both hands down-wards, telling us to lower our voices. Ok, wasn't so sure I was being loud. I move back to the empty seat next to her, offer to share some munchkins, to which she delivers the fantastic news she is a practicing vegan--living RIGHT near Gumi. How refreshing to have some insight to an even more hard-core veg lifestyle.
Warm feelings are abounding as we share a hippied-out conversation about our grappling with the culture, the gender imbalances, the double standards. Then, strike two: the male conductor comes up to us. Tells us, we 'women' need to be quiet. No speaking. Ha, go figure. The irony of him handing us our examples of the very issues we are discussing. Well, our shared grasping for understanding, our shared excitement for this connection, only became heightened when she told me she was on her way to a Nonviolence seminar in Daegu. Oh, the positive reinforcement and direction that brief, timely seat assignment gave me. As we parted ways, me to a touristy bull-fight festival (oddly unashamed by this) and her to a community of soul-searchers I plan to connect to, we have the surity of a facebook connection, two names written on small papers. The next day, we were "friends"--isn't technology wonderful?
Well, thirty minutes later, we rush to find the #18 Banwoldang station exit. There is none, and rushing, we follow other westerners into the too-warm-so-much-for-the-rainboots weather of Daegu. There are some hundred+ westerners, milling about, waiting next to the buses of the Deagu friendship tour we joined up with. Tourism it is today. And, like all large tours, it began with a lot of waiting. We sat on the buses, were fed sandwiches (delicious sandwiches with real mayo and real bread) before we even left. But finally, we rolled out. Watched the colorfully dingy Korean country-side roll by, listening to various representatives we had grouped togetther: from the quite and respectful to the outright drunk and belligerent. By the time stopped at small area of Cheongdo, the group was filing up a dusty path towards a giant wine bottle in front of a tunnel, and like everything else in Korea, not too sure what we were doing, but just following. Following following following.
The wine tunnel, a converted old train tunnel, specialized in sweet persimmon wine (not a fan). They filed is down the dark corridor into rows of tables, where the random Korean travelers took video on their phones of all the white people eating saltines and american slices and wishing for more wine. But we walked down the dripping dark, past giant lit-up casks of wine, past a bottle-mid-pour made entirely of lights. All the way to the blue glowing end, gated off, where you could peer in at all the barrels. Turn around, walk back. Mingle with other westerners, say "hello" everytime some little Korean child got excited and waved. Not sure what was more of the attraction for them: the wine or us. Us. Hands down.
Filed into the bus again, rode for a while into steeper cuts of the mountains, looking very similar to the woods of Appalachia. And then we hit the line of traffic--cars and cars, Korean versions of tailgating? Stalls for selling, parking, etc. And the buses travel past the stadium, where banners of two raging bulls, backed by red or green, and the festival is booming. Our driver wheels us into some treacherous, traffic-stopping 5-point turns, passers-by getting out to help and all, until we finally just get out and walk the rest of the way through the carts and cars of Koreans, into the stadium. Street food accents every few steps--whole chickens, brown-sugar pancakes, roasted chestnuts, rice, silkworms. Dust. People. Soju. Gas. Rain. Despite the mill of noise, the chaos of color and Hangul and cartoon mascot security guards, the nose is the most overwhelmed.
Once we get into the stadium, our group splits a bit. Jack, Matt, Sean, Kevin and I go in search of beer. We find Max and Soju in a side-stall hof just inside the stadium (not inside the actual arena). We quickly order soju to share from dixie cups and Max, yo-gi-o to the waitress, who quickly becomes our friends. They bring us food, potato-leek cakes, kimchi, soup, radish. Even extra toats--on the house. Wee-ha-yeos (sp?) all around. Gum-bae's with photos. Kids from a table away come for pictures, to give us gifts.
After feeling like we'd made the insiders-club at the races, we work our buzzing bodies through the crowd of festivities, past paper-mache horns and drag-queens on stage, into arena to find the bulls, horns locked at the bottom, two handlers giving them periodic whips to rile them into action. There is no action. Apparently we have come in time for the standstill of the bulls, and despite the announcer's prompting applause from the many Koreans in the room, I actually doze off a bit. Waking up in time to find the bulls still locked. How anyone watches this all day, two bulls just pushing at each other, is beyond me. But eventually one breaks and runs away, the territory and title claimed by the stouter.
Enough of that, we go back to the hof. More soju, more Max, even more salad, kimchi, soup, smiles. It is a grand escape from the rains and wind that have finally hit Cheongdo (I knew my wellies were going to come in handy at SOME point).
The day's events over, we head back to the bus, street food replaced by plastic, dampness setting in over our buzz. Bus ride to Daegu, plans for the evening, but we still lose 4 of our group once we make it to Daegu, where it is already dark, and appears to be misty (though later, we find the truth). Portia, with the best idea yet, leads us on a hunt for a sauna before a night out.
After following the red neon SA-OO-Nuh, we find the jjimjilbang, the bath house. Downstairs, pay 4,000won, get a handsized towel. Men through one door, women the other. See you in an hour. Portia and I walk in, put shoes in a locker. Get a key for another. Strip down all the way. I am surprised at how nonchalant I am feeling towards all this--maybe six various aged, various shaped, Korean women are walking around the locker area in various states of dress. Portia and I, entering the sauna, are the only white women, I the only with ink. Some stares, but few. And it is quite. We shower, then sit in a hot tub for a while. We connect, share, chat in the most basic, laid-back way. I can't handle the heat. Move to the warm, still pool. After a bit, on to a round pink-watered one. There are women scrubbing themselves with gloves; Koreans have an obsession with exfoliation, proven by the many infomercials. Others sit and shave, or just simply soak--like us--turning into jelly. Portia and I move into a hot-stone room, scrub ourselves with salt and commense detoxing. Back out for a rinse, one more hop in. Shower off, then back to the common room to freshen up.
By the time we meet the boys back outside, we are all feeling a bit like wet noodles, starved as hell, with Indian food and nothing else on the brain. As the streets of Daegu begin to fill up, all the Koreans that pass have their mouths covered, either by masks, or with fingers and sleeves. Can't be us, we just bathed, right? First real clue to the dust.
We find our Welcome India, second floor, veils and tapestries and low lights. Stuff ourselves on curry and naan for a good price, and feeling the drag of pure relaxation, try to rally ourselves for the night.
First stop: Billybowl. Billiards-bowling, drinking, fun. No fun for me, or Kevin. Too stuffed for anything. Give it a bit of time. There are too-young-looking westerners, obvious army rats, a few daeguers we recognize from the bus. Finally, we move out. Onto the streets, where the fog is thicker, the wind is stronger, and we are finally admitting that this must be the ominous yellow dust we had heard rumors of. Didn't think that'd be coming until later.
Wind down the streets to GoGo. Have a vinyl coctail (a beautiful invention, like a giant capri-sun for grown ups) and dance to a terrible dj while the boys play pool. The place is full of westerners, poorly-phrased english signs, and too much britney spears. We move on. It is at this point that Jack, Sean and Matt puss out, head for the train, and Portia, Kevin and I are left in the dust.
The next stop, a blessing, is the Lonely Heart's Commune Club. A chill waegook bar, downstairs, lined with vinyls (records this time), my first taste of some good music (Dylan, Phoenix, Avett Bros, to name a few), my first night of healthy pours of Jameson. Quiet, slightly seedy, indie-enough to appreciate without feeling too cliche. Good break from the kpop. It is here, where we have a nice, quite, meaningful chat.
Here where I realize the dust has stolen my voice, and between pushing it out and slipping into whispers, and just plain listening, I have the second best reminder of who I am. Kevin, in an unexpected shift from excitement for life and party, shares the worry that he does not want to be stagnant. ME EITHER! In all of this miraculous, fun-loving, drama-free experience--all of this shared culture, we cannot let ourselves forget what it means to grow, to share, to learn, to touch. We cannot forget to process all of this, and give back through it. Kevin's direction of the conversation, and meeting Lina on the train that morning, were such refreshing reminders, and materializations of the same worries I myself had been having. We will support and remind ourselves not to get lazy in mind and spirit.
After some good, quiet escape into our minds, the three of us head out to lose them again at Where's Bob, for a failed 80s night, where we are the only ones dancing and the music is never loud enough, and an ambulance is brought for a true drunken bastard who couldn't even stay in his stool. Duck out of that one as well.
Final stop: Club Frog. Fitting, since, after walking through all the yellow, I sound like one myself. We stand in line for a minute, pay a small cover, stuff our bags in a locker and break into the sweaty dark surging mass of Koreans that is the dance floor. BEATS. beats. real beats, not kpop. A constant flow never letting you catch your breath and we rage and dance through black and blue lights, packed like rice cakes, smashed up against each other. Occasionally we find the room to show off some steps, occasionally we find a bit of air to breath, but mostly, it's just beats, sweat and bodies. Glorious.
We have to duck out to catch the 4am train back to Gumi. As soon as we leave, soaked, red, sore, all the charge leaves us. We become zombies, dying for water, trudging to the train. Once in a while, exhaling a "man that was awesome," but never getting much more than that. Sink into the car, force ourselves to stay awake for another half an hour, then crash crash crash till Monday comes.
The craziest, most hectic 24 hours since I have been to Korea. We started out as tourists, and somehow transitioned all the way through to dust-hardened, train riding residents, stumbling back to our apartments like we've done this for years. We are here in Korea. We are learning it and living it. Inhaling the dust, breathing out battered syllables; ingesting it and making it our own.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, March 8, 2010
an epic dance through daegu
Saturday was my first trip outside of Gumi since getting here. Woke up early to throw in a load of laundry, run to the PCbang for wild graspings at plans and communication. Woot for facebook chat. After some scramblings, we had plans to meet at dongdaegu station at 4pm. Never having been there before, I went to the station a bit early to try it out. Made the 2:15 train. 30min ride, only 2,500won--cheaper than a taxi to homeplus. Sit next to a Korean woman, not much talking, watch the mountains roll by. Mist mist mist. Then Jack and Gi come up and surprise me. We make our way to the cafe car, find Tom on the way. Try our best to shrug off the biggest know-it-all thinks-he's-hot-shit American who wants to tell us everywhere we should go, hang out with us in our free hour, follow us to a rave that night--and lucky for us, no cell phones, so, "bummer dude, guess we'll have to split ways." Good day sir.
When we get to the station, we walk a bit into the drizzling neon that is the town, grab the usually sorry excuse for coffee in a colorful little second-story shop. Relax. Feet dry. Then back to the station for the 4pm-not-so-sharp rendezvous. After about 30min, a chat with a very strange Korean rando, and a guilt-buy gum purchase from a man in a wheelchair, we have a solid group of epik reunitees.
Oddly enough, a little over a week away has made their faces feel like home. Exciting rush of joy. HUGS. We hit the subway, then we hit the city; scattered sort of buddy system keeping us together. And here is our Korea: flashing lights, narrow streets, west-meets-east in Gumi on steroids. Here is where I'll come to buy my boots. Fo sho. We're all cravin a bit of warmth, a bite of food, and where are Blake, Sean, and Lindsay most excited about: Burger King. almighty! the last thing that I could possibly missing. But we stand outside, and I do, yes, have a salty warm fry. Watch some free huggers, reunite with more Epiks in passing. And then move on.
Downstairs Beer Bar--all the foreign bottles you want. Not for 6,000won a bottle, so Korean Max all around, Kamsamida. We're the only ones anywhere we go in this early light. They bring us first cheerio-like snacks. then it's nachos. then it's strawberry and apples. O'malley's popcorn and peanuts has nothing on the bar snacks here. Few bottles down, tally it up, move on out.
Down a few more streets, can't decide where to go. Libby and I run upstairs to check a swanky spot out. First bit of Korean snobbery: completely empty bar, and we are told "No. Koreans only." What the wha?!? Well, alright, we'll take our big ol' group of spenders to a more welcoming place covered in post-it notes next door. Another bottle, more snacks, until--finally--we find a spot for food.
Out of the rain and into a posh industrial set up, Swankified second floor. Pasta plates made for the sharing, all the salad you want. And, no joke, a bathroom with two toilets set up to stair each other in the face. You can talk about how great the food is while you're both grunting it out of you. Ha. Roly poly stuffed and warm, split up the bill--only 7.50 per person. How bout that for cheap. Then it's out into the rain, into the new night that's not-so-dark, and look for a new place to drink.
Found some ex-pats with word of a Happy Hour. They lead us through the streets, dancing and dodging Koreans the whole way there, a new track for the soundtrack in front of every store. Holy Grill. Canadian ex-pat setup. Good music. Endless drink happy hour. Jarrod, Virginia, Lindsay and I have a go at some foozball. Phoenix is playing and it feels like partying back in the states. And, who's there but that big ol guy from the train (who, with the help of Blake, we are able to avoid). Darts, dance, drinks. And then, Lindsay puts in a whisper and the lights come on and we treat Jarrod to a "Happy Birthday" from everyone in the bar. The bartenders treat our crew to free shots. Nice.
Then, Happy Hour ends. A hug bell is rung, and it's free shots for everyone still in the bar. Pass 'em on back. Nicer.
Back to the rain. Work our way past all the shops with winking models and oh man will I be returning soon to do some shopping. We end up at the Monkey Bar (I think) Pay a cover, get a locker, and make our way in. Now we dance. Dark and smokey with no waegooks in sight, we create a circle of foreign dancers right by the bar. Shake our hair, beat it on down, and show this country how we do it back home. oddly enough, all the music we hear are the familiar American remixes with a dj singing along with his favorite lines. Ha. But it was great. Sweating through neon lazers, we danced off that dinner and then some.
After they (not me, no sir) had enough dancing, we make our way out to a place for billy bowling (pool-billiards combo). Sip on a few more drinks, and let the last vestiges of the night trickle by us until it's 4 or so and we make our way back to find a way home. We say goodbye to most everyone at the trainstation. Hug hug hug.
Jack, Gi, Tom and I get ourselves a ticket on the next train to Gumi. We have an hour at least to wait. So we look for food. Of course, everywhere by the station is closed. Walk towards some lights under the bridge, and we find a little korean dive. Soju. Rice. meat (not for me). kimchi. radish. garlic. Yummmm... Surprisingly my chopstick-fingers were highly adept even in these fuzzy morning hours. We thank her, pay, and make our way back to the train station, waving goodbye to the last few lights of Daegu, and up the stairs to the platform. There is a small group of Koreans--ending their night I presume. Strangely we all look very alive. On fire with it, I guess.
On the train there is Tekken and internet and two other westerners we share the car with. Our spirits are high--in many many ways. It was an epic night, well worth it all. As we roll into Gumi, we wish Tom well until the next stop, and Jack, Gi, and I make our way (luckily) down the same street, branching off at our respective alleys.
It's a little after 6:30 by the time the benadryl hits in. I sleep for the whole day. And come Sunday night, I am rejuvinated in so many ways. Daegu was excellent.
When we get to the station, we walk a bit into the drizzling neon that is the town, grab the usually sorry excuse for coffee in a colorful little second-story shop. Relax. Feet dry. Then back to the station for the 4pm-not-so-sharp rendezvous. After about 30min, a chat with a very strange Korean rando, and a guilt-buy gum purchase from a man in a wheelchair, we have a solid group of epik reunitees.
Oddly enough, a little over a week away has made their faces feel like home. Exciting rush of joy. HUGS. We hit the subway, then we hit the city; scattered sort of buddy system keeping us together. And here is our Korea: flashing lights, narrow streets, west-meets-east in Gumi on steroids. Here is where I'll come to buy my boots. Fo sho. We're all cravin a bit of warmth, a bite of food, and where are Blake, Sean, and Lindsay most excited about: Burger King. almighty! the last thing that I could possibly missing. But we stand outside, and I do, yes, have a salty warm fry. Watch some free huggers, reunite with more Epiks in passing. And then move on.
Downstairs Beer Bar--all the foreign bottles you want. Not for 6,000won a bottle, so Korean Max all around, Kamsamida. We're the only ones anywhere we go in this early light. They bring us first cheerio-like snacks. then it's nachos. then it's strawberry and apples. O'malley's popcorn and peanuts has nothing on the bar snacks here. Few bottles down, tally it up, move on out.
Down a few more streets, can't decide where to go. Libby and I run upstairs to check a swanky spot out. First bit of Korean snobbery: completely empty bar, and we are told "No. Koreans only." What the wha?!? Well, alright, we'll take our big ol' group of spenders to a more welcoming place covered in post-it notes next door. Another bottle, more snacks, until--finally--we find a spot for food.
Out of the rain and into a posh industrial set up, Swankified second floor. Pasta plates made for the sharing, all the salad you want. And, no joke, a bathroom with two toilets set up to stair each other in the face. You can talk about how great the food is while you're both grunting it out of you. Ha. Roly poly stuffed and warm, split up the bill--only 7.50 per person. How bout that for cheap. Then it's out into the rain, into the new night that's not-so-dark, and look for a new place to drink.
Found some ex-pats with word of a Happy Hour. They lead us through the streets, dancing and dodging Koreans the whole way there, a new track for the soundtrack in front of every store. Holy Grill. Canadian ex-pat setup. Good music. Endless drink happy hour. Jarrod, Virginia, Lindsay and I have a go at some foozball. Phoenix is playing and it feels like partying back in the states. And, who's there but that big ol guy from the train (who, with the help of Blake, we are able to avoid). Darts, dance, drinks. And then, Lindsay puts in a whisper and the lights come on and we treat Jarrod to a "Happy Birthday" from everyone in the bar. The bartenders treat our crew to free shots. Nice.
Then, Happy Hour ends. A hug bell is rung, and it's free shots for everyone still in the bar. Pass 'em on back. Nicer.
Back to the rain. Work our way past all the shops with winking models and oh man will I be returning soon to do some shopping. We end up at the Monkey Bar (I think) Pay a cover, get a locker, and make our way in. Now we dance. Dark and smokey with no waegooks in sight, we create a circle of foreign dancers right by the bar. Shake our hair, beat it on down, and show this country how we do it back home. oddly enough, all the music we hear are the familiar American remixes with a dj singing along with his favorite lines. Ha. But it was great. Sweating through neon lazers, we danced off that dinner and then some.
After they (not me, no sir) had enough dancing, we make our way out to a place for billy bowling (pool-billiards combo). Sip on a few more drinks, and let the last vestiges of the night trickle by us until it's 4 or so and we make our way back to find a way home. We say goodbye to most everyone at the trainstation. Hug hug hug.
Jack, Gi, Tom and I get ourselves a ticket on the next train to Gumi. We have an hour at least to wait. So we look for food. Of course, everywhere by the station is closed. Walk towards some lights under the bridge, and we find a little korean dive. Soju. Rice. meat (not for me). kimchi. radish. garlic. Yummmm... Surprisingly my chopstick-fingers were highly adept even in these fuzzy morning hours. We thank her, pay, and make our way back to the train station, waving goodbye to the last few lights of Daegu, and up the stairs to the platform. There is a small group of Koreans--ending their night I presume. Strangely we all look very alive. On fire with it, I guess.
On the train there is Tekken and internet and two other westerners we share the car with. Our spirits are high--in many many ways. It was an epic night, well worth it all. As we roll into Gumi, we wish Tom well until the next stop, and Jack, Gi, and I make our way (luckily) down the same street, branching off at our respective alleys.
It's a little after 6:30 by the time the benadryl hits in. I sleep for the whole day. And come Sunday night, I am rejuvinated in so many ways. Daegu was excellent.
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