I just instructed my night class genius 1st graders to write stream-of-conscious for the next fifteen minutes. Instead of watching them stare at their keyboards, terrified of trying to think of an idea, translate from hangul to english, through to keys, and never hope to finish in the alloted time of the test, I threw another winger at em. Blur the lines of the systems, the rules, the way-it-is-was-and-ever-shall-be that runs this country, and you'd think I'd set fireworks off under the casket at a funeral. Utter confusion.
The first night I had the class, feeling entirely unprepared (thank you dynamic korea) I pulled a jewel of a creative writing exercise out of my ass (thank you Imad, for all those journals you made us do) and basically made them write backwards mad-libs. They came up with random words (a not-so-surprising number of them involving Paul McCartney and the Beatles due to Angela's obsession), and I made them put those details into a chronological story. Voila, a lesson on a basic, forward-moving argument. Just remember guys, the examples of an essay are a lot like those random details you had to work into your story. Just make it make sense. Just try. Don't worry.
Well, after a bit of coaxing, a LOT of explaining (they are always so worried they will get it wrong, even when they are dead-on) and encouragement TO THE MAX!!! they began typing away at the exercise. The stories they sent me (after about 35 minutes of writing) revealed a creative, witty, and quite talented group of students. In fact, I find that in all of my teaching here at GFLHS, shaking things up a bit and saturating them with positivity produces the most entertaining, refreshing, and rewarding results.
So here I am, sitting and watching their fingers turn into little tentacles of their brains. I am hoping they are using this not just as a typing and writing exercise, but are getting some kind of meditative magic out of it. I hope that they are handing over any bits of stress, of anxiety, tiredness, moans of mock-tests, and tears for weekends home. I hope this becomes therapy (ha, since I seem to fail at keeping up with my writing, maybe that is indicative of how little therapy I need in this stress-free life I now live)
But maybe I should be careful about placing them in a box as well. I love it when my students surprise me.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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.
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.
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. 
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.
Monday, April 19, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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