And so one school term ends and another begins.
I arrived in Pusan at the beginning of the Autumn term in August, and now, after a week of exams to determine which students would be "leveling up" to the next class and which would remain for another term, we have begun Winter term.
Each term is 13 weeks, and if I have not explained before, each day I teach a 3 hour class for elementary school students, directly followed by a 3 hour class for middle school students. I teach a wide variety of classes at various levels - reading, listening, memorization. And although at times my elementary students were a little rambunctious and my middle school kids could be sullen or painfully quiet, I was lucky Autumn term, and have grown very fond of my students.
As you all know by now, studies are taken very seriously in Korea, particulary at Chung Dahm, where I work. During training, we were taught a popular saying that roughly goes something like this - Don't wear jeans until Christmas and don't smile until Easter. I haven't been quite that formal (and no mind the jeans; we're prohibited from wearing them at my branch anyway) but there's an air of seriousness that dissipated slightly during the last week of Autumn term. I brought cookies for the kids and let them eat in class (usually against the rules). I arm-wrestled with them, asked them about their Christmas plans.
One of their final writing assignments was titled "Your Teacher!"
It's your last day of class, the paper read, "Your teacher has taught you a lot of important skills this term. You may have also learned a lot about your teacher!
The assignment (not written by me, I promise you) went on to ask the students questions about their teacher, including any unusual habits they found interesting. Here are some of my favorites from my students (exactly as written):
"I think Jeen is beautiful. Her hair color is red, and have freckles on cheeks. I think she is like skirts, because eccept today she only wear skirt," - Ben.
"I know something special about Jenn. First, she likes every skirts and always wears skirts. Not only today. Second, she has boyfriend in this CDI Academy, his name is Anthony. Every day, she meets him, and talk happily. Also, their cheeks turn red (Because they LOVE each other) - Jean.
"You have to eat too much. Because you are so thin. When you wear a skirt, it looks very very pretty (I want to grow up more!) Also, during the class it was very fun. You always kind for everyone. Your smile is pretty! Every body want...You!" - Halley
"She seemed like little strange because she always dresses skirts and clothes are very colorful. And her motions are very big like doing exercise. But I like to do motions very big so I like her," - Cindy.
"Jennifer Yael Green, the teacher of my reading class has red freckles and I think that is funny thing. Also, she look like Red hair Ann," - Brian.
"Teacher always wear some strange dress. and always drink Coke Zero and teacher bring strange bag. That bag is very similar with my mom's bags," - Hero.
I don't know if any other job review could beat these, and I am happy to report that quite a few of my students from last term joined my new classes this term, so I have the next three months to get to know them even better (and show them that I do in fact wear pants!)
Last week was Thanksgiving, and although we were without turkey or American football or even a day off from work, we managed to celebrate. On Thursday I rode the subway down to the Seamen's Club with several friends for Thanksgiving lunch before work. The place smelled of old people and the food wasn't the best, but we happily sipped on egg nog and ate until our bellies ached, which is what Thanksgiving is all about.
Since we had to work on the actual holiday, I bravely offered to host a real Thanksgiving dinner two days later, on Saturday. My friend Eric arrived at my studio apartment at 2pm, and proceeded to cook stuffing and gravy, while I simmered mulled wine and tried to make room for a dozen people. Last Thanksgiving was spent in my apartment in Buenos Aires where there was less people and far more chairs, but both seemed to be a success because of the wonderful company (and endless flow of wine....)
There were quite a few more Americans this year, and everyone prepared a dish, which resulted in a smorgasbord of a dinner: sweet potatoes, pasta, home-made salsa, pork and beans, salad, ice cream cake, and of course....chicken. After dinner, instead of watching sports and napping, we went to a local brewery and listened to a Bulgarian rock band and then danced in a Korean nightclub until the early hours of the morning, burning off all those calories. Hey, it may not have been a traditional Thanksgiving, but it sure was fun.
Now the Christmas season is upon us, although it doesn't feel quite the same as at home...no elaborate decorations in the grocery store, no twinkling lights on neighborhood homes, no old Christmas movies on television. The church directly across from my apartment building HAS put up wreaths though, and I've placed my chocolate advent calendar on my windowsill. I promise to sip some peppermint hot chocolate for Ash, put up a small Christmas tree for Mom, listen to Bing Crosby for Lo, and send all my love and best wishes for a happy holiday season to the rest of you....
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Yes, We Did! (Election Notes from Abroad)
I left the United States eleven weeks before the presidential election.
Before McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate.
Before the economy really collapsed and the dollar plummeted.
Even before Joe the Plumber became a house-hold name.
I took a position teaching English in South Korea back when people were still speculating an Obama/Clinton ticket, and only half joking about a recession. I missed many of the exciting moments in the final weeks before the election, because without access to a television or internet, I couldn’t watch the final presidential debate, or Sarah Palin’s horrendous interview with Katie Couric, or even the SNL sketches that followed. Sure, I saw clips on YouTube several weeks later, hunched over my desk in my studio apartment in Pusan, but it wasn’t quite the same.
Four years ago, I trudged through the streets of Seattle on election day, reporting for The Stranger. I interviewed people at the polls, asked them how they were feeling and what factors were affecting their decision that day. This was 2004, and most of them talked about the war in Iraq, a need to bring soldiers home, four years being quite enough of George W. Bush.
This election day, I walked to work in the crisp autumn air, to my job at an English academy twenty minutes from my apartment. My co-workers and I read yesterday’s copy of the New York Times in the break room, quietly mulling over what we thought the results would be, trying to explain to the Canadian teachers about popular votes. And then it was off to class to explain transition words and summary writing. There was none of the excitement, the anticipation, of last election day. Just fifteen young Korean faces, waiting to see their score on Tuesday’s quiz.
Four years ago, I had gone to bed well after midnight, the results still unclear. I awoke Wednesday morning and frantically turned on my laptop, sucking in my breath as I read the headline – “Bush Re-Elected, Kerry Concedes” on the MSNBC website. This year, because Korea is 14 hours ahead of the East Coast, voting was just underway when I nodded off to sleep on November 4th, well after 3am. I jumped out of bed the following morning just before 11am, bright blue sky greeting me in just the same way it had four years earlier – it was too beautiful a day to be met with bad news, just as it had been then.
I thought they would have called it by the time I clicked on the the New York Times homepage, but although the blue block on Obama’s side was decidedly bigger, the final results were still not in.
It would be another few hours before I heard the good news, from a text message I received from another American teacher: “we win! obama 08!” I whooped in my empty studio, glancing out the window of my 18th floor apartment, half-expecting people to be dancing in the streets.
They weren’t, of course. I wore my “Obama For Yo Mama” shirt to work that day, under my serious black blazer. The handful of other teachers was also in good spirits, but there was none of the joyous celebrating I saw on my computer screen from the streets of Chicago, New York, Seattle. It was like waking up on Christmas morning alone in a hotel room in a foreign city with no friends. Kind of lonely and anti-climatic.
But although election day didn’t hold the same excitement abroad as it would have at home, the results of this election are huge for Americans living abroad, significant on an international level in a way they’ve never been before.
When I asked my elementary school students what they thought of the election results on Wednesday, they all shouted, “Good, Teacher! Obama good.”
“But why?” I asked them. “Why is Obama good?”
“Obama black man,” one of the boys said. “First black man president.”
“And why is that a good thing?” I asked again. “Why is a black man as president good?” I was hoping to get a more in-depth answer, about race and class and change. Instead, they all looked at me like I was stupid.
“Because,” said one of the girls, speaking slowly and in a way that implied I just didn’t get it. “First is always good.”
In many ways, their simple answer is exactly right. First black man IS good, obviously, but for reasons beyond a ten-year old’s idea that first = winner. The face we have painted as “American” in recent years has been that of a white, Protestant, wealthy older man – not really the face of America at all. And not a face that people across the world can relate to, or even understand. Maybe that’s the face of the guys running things, but it sure isn’t the face of the average American.
I think Obama’s image alone is powerful enough to start to change the way many across the globe view America – a country that has too often been associated with greed, war and destruction. People here seem to really like Barack Obama, and maybe that warms them to the rest of the country too. In my travels in previous years, from London to Malawi to Israel, the first thing I have been asked is always, “Do you like President Bush?” People constantly seemed curious as to how he got elected and who exactly voted for him.
“I don’t understand,” one man said to me, walking along a dirt road in northern Mozambique. “I always ask Americans if they voted for George Bush, and the answer is always no. How then did this man become your president?”
Tell me about it, I felt like replying. Many of us have wondered the same thing. The disconnect between George Bush and the rest of the country oftentimes felt gargantuan, a man who didn’t know gasoline was going to reach $4 a gallon until a reporter told him, who didn’t support a minimum wage increase until the 6th year of his presidency. But I do think we’re changing course now, and that Barack Obama is going to lead us in a new direction.
Yes, it was a great disappointment to miss such a historic day in America and not be able to partake in the festivities and celebrations. I wish I could have watched the results come in with family and friends, and danced in the streets with strangers when Obama’s victory was finally announced. But the affects of this election are going to be felt for years to come, and now, when I am traveling, I am so happy that I will finally be able to answer Yes, yes I do like President Obama very much. He is a great president.
Because I truly believe he will be.
Before McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate.
Before the economy really collapsed and the dollar plummeted.
Even before Joe the Plumber became a house-hold name.
I took a position teaching English in South Korea back when people were still speculating an Obama/Clinton ticket, and only half joking about a recession. I missed many of the exciting moments in the final weeks before the election, because without access to a television or internet, I couldn’t watch the final presidential debate, or Sarah Palin’s horrendous interview with Katie Couric, or even the SNL sketches that followed. Sure, I saw clips on YouTube several weeks later, hunched over my desk in my studio apartment in Pusan, but it wasn’t quite the same.
Four years ago, I trudged through the streets of Seattle on election day, reporting for The Stranger. I interviewed people at the polls, asked them how they were feeling and what factors were affecting their decision that day. This was 2004, and most of them talked about the war in Iraq, a need to bring soldiers home, four years being quite enough of George W. Bush.
This election day, I walked to work in the crisp autumn air, to my job at an English academy twenty minutes from my apartment. My co-workers and I read yesterday’s copy of the New York Times in the break room, quietly mulling over what we thought the results would be, trying to explain to the Canadian teachers about popular votes. And then it was off to class to explain transition words and summary writing. There was none of the excitement, the anticipation, of last election day. Just fifteen young Korean faces, waiting to see their score on Tuesday’s quiz.
Four years ago, I had gone to bed well after midnight, the results still unclear. I awoke Wednesday morning and frantically turned on my laptop, sucking in my breath as I read the headline – “Bush Re-Elected, Kerry Concedes” on the MSNBC website. This year, because Korea is 14 hours ahead of the East Coast, voting was just underway when I nodded off to sleep on November 4th, well after 3am. I jumped out of bed the following morning just before 11am, bright blue sky greeting me in just the same way it had four years earlier – it was too beautiful a day to be met with bad news, just as it had been then.
I thought they would have called it by the time I clicked on the the New York Times homepage, but although the blue block on Obama’s side was decidedly bigger, the final results were still not in.
It would be another few hours before I heard the good news, from a text message I received from another American teacher: “we win! obama 08!” I whooped in my empty studio, glancing out the window of my 18th floor apartment, half-expecting people to be dancing in the streets.
They weren’t, of course. I wore my “Obama For Yo Mama” shirt to work that day, under my serious black blazer. The handful of other teachers was also in good spirits, but there was none of the joyous celebrating I saw on my computer screen from the streets of Chicago, New York, Seattle. It was like waking up on Christmas morning alone in a hotel room in a foreign city with no friends. Kind of lonely and anti-climatic.
But although election day didn’t hold the same excitement abroad as it would have at home, the results of this election are huge for Americans living abroad, significant on an international level in a way they’ve never been before.
When I asked my elementary school students what they thought of the election results on Wednesday, they all shouted, “Good, Teacher! Obama good.”
“But why?” I asked them. “Why is Obama good?”
“Obama black man,” one of the boys said. “First black man president.”
“And why is that a good thing?” I asked again. “Why is a black man as president good?” I was hoping to get a more in-depth answer, about race and class and change. Instead, they all looked at me like I was stupid.
“Because,” said one of the girls, speaking slowly and in a way that implied I just didn’t get it. “First is always good.”
In many ways, their simple answer is exactly right. First black man IS good, obviously, but for reasons beyond a ten-year old’s idea that first = winner. The face we have painted as “American” in recent years has been that of a white, Protestant, wealthy older man – not really the face of America at all. And not a face that people across the world can relate to, or even understand. Maybe that’s the face of the guys running things, but it sure isn’t the face of the average American.
I think Obama’s image alone is powerful enough to start to change the way many across the globe view America – a country that has too often been associated with greed, war and destruction. People here seem to really like Barack Obama, and maybe that warms them to the rest of the country too. In my travels in previous years, from London to Malawi to Israel, the first thing I have been asked is always, “Do you like President Bush?” People constantly seemed curious as to how he got elected and who exactly voted for him.
“I don’t understand,” one man said to me, walking along a dirt road in northern Mozambique. “I always ask Americans if they voted for George Bush, and the answer is always no. How then did this man become your president?”
Tell me about it, I felt like replying. Many of us have wondered the same thing. The disconnect between George Bush and the rest of the country oftentimes felt gargantuan, a man who didn’t know gasoline was going to reach $4 a gallon until a reporter told him, who didn’t support a minimum wage increase until the 6th year of his presidency. But I do think we’re changing course now, and that Barack Obama is going to lead us in a new direction.
Yes, it was a great disappointment to miss such a historic day in America and not be able to partake in the festivities and celebrations. I wish I could have watched the results come in with family and friends, and danced in the streets with strangers when Obama’s victory was finally announced. But the affects of this election are going to be felt for years to come, and now, when I am traveling, I am so happy that I will finally be able to answer Yes, yes I do like President Obama very much. He is a great president.
Because I truly believe he will be.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Three Month Mark
The leaves, the light, the landscape – it all seemed to change abruptly this past week in Busan, ushering in Autumn with such speed that we didn’t even get a backward glance from our Indian Summer…
Many of the reasons I chose to live in Busan were about the beach, and the last few months of sunbathing, fireworks festivals and soju drinking on the sand have been ideal. But years of living in Seattle must have rubbed off on me quite a bit, because I was delighted at the first rain, eager to wrap a scarf around my neck and sip something warm from a mug. The views from my 18th floor apartment have been beautiful too: the clouds blanketing the green mountain in the morning, the leaves changing colors on the streets below.
I am now nearing my three month mark in the country, and yet I’m still not used to many of the things that make Korea….well, Korea. The smells are still overwhelming; walk down the street on any given day and you will get a whiff of some sort of dreadful, god-knows-what, a result of bad sewage systems and a lack of garbage cans (which is easily my biggest complaint about Korea – there are NO garbage cans ANYWHERE! I often must carry an empty water bottle or a granola bar wrapper across town before finding a place to dispose of it).
And the pushiness. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the way Koreans plow through crowds like line-backers, shoving anyone who dares get in the way, bumping shoulders and cutting in line without so much as an “Excuse me,” or “I’m sorry.” The other day I was on the subway during my short commute to work. There were no seats available, so I stood with my hand wrapped around one of the metal poles to keep balance. I was staring out the window when suddenly: BAM! A pain shot through my hand, and I turned to realize that an old man seated next to me had just karate-chopped my hand so he could use the pole to hoist himself up. Never mind that the pole extends from the CEILING to the FLOOR and he could have placed his hand on another part of the pole, or simply tapped me to let me know he was about to get up. No, no…extreme force is always necessary, and forget an apologetic smile or even the recognition that he’d done something wrong. The old guy just scooted past me as the subway doors slid open, my mouth gaping with shock.
Another curious thing about Korea is the “love motels” that populate every block in every city. These buzzing neon buildings have names like “Romeo and Juliet” and each room is complete with things like heart-shaped hot tubs, DVD players, and free condoms. They are frequented by Korean men and their mistresses, I believe, although unmarried couples living with their parents are also among those who use the love motels. I have to walk by a large number of them on my way home at night, and I usually see about half-dozen men outside each, smoking cigarettes and waiting for whoever is going to join them. The most hilarious part is that each motel has a parking lot that is kept hidden from sight by a wall of hanging strips of cloth – they look like the rotating arms you would see at a drive-through car wash.
It all seems a bit odd in a country that is otherwise so conservative, but I guess Koreans need some way to blow off steam – like I’ve mentioned before, they work six days a week and pride themselves on not taking holidays. My company only offers five vacation days a year, and there is no such thing as a “sick day.” My students are constantly little balls of stress; it seems there is always a huge exam looming, or an assignment they must complete. When I stroll into class on Fridays, excited about the approaching weekend, I have to remind myself that they attend school most Saturdays, and so Friday afternoons aren’t quite so special.
A majority of students do not take part in activities like sports or student government; instead, if they squeeze in something unrelated to academics, they learn paper-making or calligraphy. It blows my mind that my elementary school years were spent riding bikes, building forts and playing basketball, while these kids perfect their handwriting. I find that many of my students, although shockingly smart, lack the childhood creativity and curiosity you’d usually see at such a young age. And then again, a lot of times they surprise me with how imaginative they can be when prodded.
Example: the kids had a writing assignment where they had to imagine their parents had left them home alone for the entire summer, with just $20 to spend. They needed to figure out a way to survive on their own. Most of my students just kept whining about the assignment, insisting that it wasn’t practical.
“But, Teeeeaaaccheeer! Why would my parents leave me alone for the summer? My parents would not leave me alone! I am only eleven years old!”
Me, trying to be patient: “This is HYPOTHETICAL, you guys. Your parents aren’t really leaving you alone. You just have to imagine that this could happen.”
“But! Teeee-cha, why do I have to imagine something that is not true?”
Most of the class continues in this manner, but one of my students, Sophia, is madly writing throughout the remainder of the hour. When I stop by her desk to peek over her shoulder, I see that she has written nearly a page. Her response is detailed, revealing how she would go to E-Mart to eat free samples of food during her meal-times; she would sell her Dad’s new computer to pay the bills, and sleep on the beach if she couldn’t afford to pay the rent at her apartment.
She and her friend Lydia are two of my favorite students, mostly because I see a sparkle in both of them. Their favored status was sealed when I read over one of their homework assignments during our “homework check” at the beginning of class. They were asked what they would do if they could be principal for a day at their school. Sophia said she would introduce tea-time at school, where Korean students could enjoy different types of tea and snacks, and improve their social skills (the girl has a point – Korean students are notoriously awkward). She also thinks it would be a good idea to have water-gun fights on the playground so the students could blow off steam from their stressful schedules.
Lydia wrote: “My principal is very strict and always distorts his face. I would not be strict and I would not distort my face.”
I laughed when I read that, praising her on good use of vocabulary and asked her to show me what his distorted face looked like. She scrunched up her features into a look of pure displeasure. “This is how principal always looks,” she said. Yeah, I don’t think I’d want to have to deal with someone like that either.
I’m sure many of us can remember being that age and sure that any member of the opposite sex had cooties, wanting nothing to do with the other gender. Kids in Korea are like that multiplied by a thousand – they won’t sit next to each other in class, won’t talk to each other, and certainly won’t work together on school assignments. The easiest way to punish the boys in my class is to make them sit next to a girl. Attitudes don’t change drastically in adulthood, either – women usually hang out with other women and men usually hang out with other men. Most people don’t seem to have friends of the opposite sex, although young people around my age ALL have boyfriends or girlfriends (and they all wear matching outfits; see my photos). Being single is the most undesirable of situations to find yourself in if you’re a Korean (or anyone, in their eyes). If I’m seen talking to a boy, it is automatically assumed that we are dating.
My friend Anthony works in the classroom next door to mine, and we often chat in the hallway during breaks – this has led the students to believe that we are married, and they constantly ask me questions like, “Teacher Jenn, do you love Teacher Anthony?” No matter how I respond, they burst into loud giggles and contemplate our life together. When Anthony wore a new jacket to class last week, they insisted it was because we were going on romantic date after class ended.
I can only imagine what they think my life is like – I try to think back to my teachers, and what I thought of them. I had a surreal moment last week when, standing at the white board, giving a lecture on how to take good notes, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of my class: black blazer, trousers, heels, blue marker in hand, fourteen students with their eyes on me. How did this happen? I thought suddenly. When did I get to this point? I guess there is no one moment when we are “grown-up,” but a series of moments over time, so that it probably shocks the hell out of everyone when we see that adult image reflecting back at us.
It certainly scared the bejesus out of me.
Many of the reasons I chose to live in Busan were about the beach, and the last few months of sunbathing, fireworks festivals and soju drinking on the sand have been ideal. But years of living in Seattle must have rubbed off on me quite a bit, because I was delighted at the first rain, eager to wrap a scarf around my neck and sip something warm from a mug. The views from my 18th floor apartment have been beautiful too: the clouds blanketing the green mountain in the morning, the leaves changing colors on the streets below.
I am now nearing my three month mark in the country, and yet I’m still not used to many of the things that make Korea….well, Korea. The smells are still overwhelming; walk down the street on any given day and you will get a whiff of some sort of dreadful, god-knows-what, a result of bad sewage systems and a lack of garbage cans (which is easily my biggest complaint about Korea – there are NO garbage cans ANYWHERE! I often must carry an empty water bottle or a granola bar wrapper across town before finding a place to dispose of it).
And the pushiness. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the way Koreans plow through crowds like line-backers, shoving anyone who dares get in the way, bumping shoulders and cutting in line without so much as an “Excuse me,” or “I’m sorry.” The other day I was on the subway during my short commute to work. There were no seats available, so I stood with my hand wrapped around one of the metal poles to keep balance. I was staring out the window when suddenly: BAM! A pain shot through my hand, and I turned to realize that an old man seated next to me had just karate-chopped my hand so he could use the pole to hoist himself up. Never mind that the pole extends from the CEILING to the FLOOR and he could have placed his hand on another part of the pole, or simply tapped me to let me know he was about to get up. No, no…extreme force is always necessary, and forget an apologetic smile or even the recognition that he’d done something wrong. The old guy just scooted past me as the subway doors slid open, my mouth gaping with shock.
Another curious thing about Korea is the “love motels” that populate every block in every city. These buzzing neon buildings have names like “Romeo and Juliet” and each room is complete with things like heart-shaped hot tubs, DVD players, and free condoms. They are frequented by Korean men and their mistresses, I believe, although unmarried couples living with their parents are also among those who use the love motels. I have to walk by a large number of them on my way home at night, and I usually see about half-dozen men outside each, smoking cigarettes and waiting for whoever is going to join them. The most hilarious part is that each motel has a parking lot that is kept hidden from sight by a wall of hanging strips of cloth – they look like the rotating arms you would see at a drive-through car wash.
It all seems a bit odd in a country that is otherwise so conservative, but I guess Koreans need some way to blow off steam – like I’ve mentioned before, they work six days a week and pride themselves on not taking holidays. My company only offers five vacation days a year, and there is no such thing as a “sick day.” My students are constantly little balls of stress; it seems there is always a huge exam looming, or an assignment they must complete. When I stroll into class on Fridays, excited about the approaching weekend, I have to remind myself that they attend school most Saturdays, and so Friday afternoons aren’t quite so special.
A majority of students do not take part in activities like sports or student government; instead, if they squeeze in something unrelated to academics, they learn paper-making or calligraphy. It blows my mind that my elementary school years were spent riding bikes, building forts and playing basketball, while these kids perfect their handwriting. I find that many of my students, although shockingly smart, lack the childhood creativity and curiosity you’d usually see at such a young age. And then again, a lot of times they surprise me with how imaginative they can be when prodded.
Example: the kids had a writing assignment where they had to imagine their parents had left them home alone for the entire summer, with just $20 to spend. They needed to figure out a way to survive on their own. Most of my students just kept whining about the assignment, insisting that it wasn’t practical.
“But, Teeeeaaaccheeer! Why would my parents leave me alone for the summer? My parents would not leave me alone! I am only eleven years old!”
Me, trying to be patient: “This is HYPOTHETICAL, you guys. Your parents aren’t really leaving you alone. You just have to imagine that this could happen.”
“But! Teeee-cha, why do I have to imagine something that is not true?”
Most of the class continues in this manner, but one of my students, Sophia, is madly writing throughout the remainder of the hour. When I stop by her desk to peek over her shoulder, I see that she has written nearly a page. Her response is detailed, revealing how she would go to E-Mart to eat free samples of food during her meal-times; she would sell her Dad’s new computer to pay the bills, and sleep on the beach if she couldn’t afford to pay the rent at her apartment.
She and her friend Lydia are two of my favorite students, mostly because I see a sparkle in both of them. Their favored status was sealed when I read over one of their homework assignments during our “homework check” at the beginning of class. They were asked what they would do if they could be principal for a day at their school. Sophia said she would introduce tea-time at school, where Korean students could enjoy different types of tea and snacks, and improve their social skills (the girl has a point – Korean students are notoriously awkward). She also thinks it would be a good idea to have water-gun fights on the playground so the students could blow off steam from their stressful schedules.
Lydia wrote: “My principal is very strict and always distorts his face. I would not be strict and I would not distort my face.”
I laughed when I read that, praising her on good use of vocabulary and asked her to show me what his distorted face looked like. She scrunched up her features into a look of pure displeasure. “This is how principal always looks,” she said. Yeah, I don’t think I’d want to have to deal with someone like that either.
I’m sure many of us can remember being that age and sure that any member of the opposite sex had cooties, wanting nothing to do with the other gender. Kids in Korea are like that multiplied by a thousand – they won’t sit next to each other in class, won’t talk to each other, and certainly won’t work together on school assignments. The easiest way to punish the boys in my class is to make them sit next to a girl. Attitudes don’t change drastically in adulthood, either – women usually hang out with other women and men usually hang out with other men. Most people don’t seem to have friends of the opposite sex, although young people around my age ALL have boyfriends or girlfriends (and they all wear matching outfits; see my photos). Being single is the most undesirable of situations to find yourself in if you’re a Korean (or anyone, in their eyes). If I’m seen talking to a boy, it is automatically assumed that we are dating.
My friend Anthony works in the classroom next door to mine, and we often chat in the hallway during breaks – this has led the students to believe that we are married, and they constantly ask me questions like, “Teacher Jenn, do you love Teacher Anthony?” No matter how I respond, they burst into loud giggles and contemplate our life together. When Anthony wore a new jacket to class last week, they insisted it was because we were going on romantic date after class ended.
I can only imagine what they think my life is like – I try to think back to my teachers, and what I thought of them. I had a surreal moment last week when, standing at the white board, giving a lecture on how to take good notes, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of my class: black blazer, trousers, heels, blue marker in hand, fourteen students with their eyes on me. How did this happen? I thought suddenly. When did I get to this point? I guess there is no one moment when we are “grown-up,” but a series of moments over time, so that it probably shocks the hell out of everyone when we see that adult image reflecting back at us.
It certainly scared the bejesus out of me.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Farewells and Festivals
It seems that Koreans love festivals almost as much as they love kimchi.
The past few weeks have been a blur of festivals, both here in Busan and in other areas of Korea, and a week can't go by without some sort of cultural celebration...Mask Festival, Mud Festival, Mime Festival. Korea has 'em all.
The festivals kicked off with the Pusan International Film Festival (PIFF) which was one I had actually been aware of before arriving in Korea, a week-long affair I was really excited about attending. It's one of the largest film festivals in Asia, with over 300 films from 60 countries, and an emphasis on showcasing talent from third world countries. I managed to see eight films, ranging from a brutally chilling account of boy soldiers in Liberia, to Bill Maher's hilarious religious documentary, to an horrendously boring story about an Argentine sailor in Ushuaia.
The following weekend I traveled with a half-dozen friends to Jinju, a relatively small town about an hour and a half from Busan, for the Nam River Lantern Festival. I wasn't expecting much, the image of red lanterns hanging outside Chinese restaurants in Seattle stuck in my head. It was rather beautiful though: large, colorful figures floating down a wide river through Jinju, the warm lights from within the thin material casting a glow on the water. There were multi-colored warriors, bright cartoon characters, vivid green dragons, plump ladybugs. The area was packed, and we wandered for several hours along the riverbank, stopping only for Turkish ice cream and meat on a stick, which we munched happily under a new moon.
Last weekend I braved the crowds to attend the Fireworks Festival here in Busan, on Gwang-an Beach. Again, I figured a firework show is a firework show, and I've seen plenty 4th of July parades in my day. I considered not going, especially when I heard that crowds were estimated at 1.5 million, but decided at the last minute to join my friends. The amount of people there was exorbitant, even by Korean standards. We arrived about 4 hours before the show began to secure a spot on the sand, and people just kept coming and coming...and coming. At 7pm, the police closed off the beach, which is exactly around the time I decided I had to go to the bathroom. I've never had such a difficult time. It being Korea, there was only ONE designated restroom for all million plus people and a line that easily stretched 1/2 mile. I finally managed to beg an ajumma (older lady) to let me use the bathroom in her restaurant and then battled the cranky old men and the drunk young men to get back onto the beach.
But man, was the show worth it. I've never seen a fireworks production like it, with a fountain of white lights streaming from the Gwang-an bridge, green lasers shooting across the sea and onto the skyscrapers lining the boardwalk, the music of Queen reverberating from all sides. The word "fireworks" in Korean literally means "fire flowers" and it is a perfect description - the fireworks were like bursts of bright light blooming in the nightsky. I'm sure I will never see another show like it.
Somewhere in the midst of all this, my childhood friend Jenna departed for the United States. We have enjoyed two months of Korean adventures, and the pace certainly didn't slow during her last week here. Besides all the festivals, we finally managed to try san nak ji (live octopus) in Jagalchi fish market, which was a horrifyingly wonderful experience. We wandered from stall to stall for a while, inquiring at each: "San nak ji?" Finally, a man in yellow coveralls smiled, reached into a tank, and pulled out a glistening grey octopus the size of a small child.
Jenna and I squealed as we watched him chop the head off and then slice the thing up into pieces and slide them onto a plate for us. The pieces looked like slugs, wriggling madly toward the center of the dish as though they really were trying to mold themselves back together. My first attempt at swallowing a piece went awry quickly - octopus is very chewy, and the bite was too big, lodging in my throat and writhing about as I desperately tried to cough it back up. I finally managed to get a few pieces down, but not without a lot of giggling and screeching from both sides of the table.
We did have a lovely going-away dinner and party for Jenna on her last night, a testimony to all the friends she's made in just a few short months. We ate barbequed duck, drank too much soju, and stumbled home as the sun began to rise around 6am.
My studio apartment is a lot quieter these days now that I'm without Jenna, and even the Street Meat Man has been asking her whereabouts, but I'm keeping busy sculpting the minds of Korean youth, getting scrubbed down in Korean bathhouses, and contemplating my next culinary adventure (dog meat, perhaps?)
The past few weeks have been a blur of festivals, both here in Busan and in other areas of Korea, and a week can't go by without some sort of cultural celebration...Mask Festival, Mud Festival, Mime Festival. Korea has 'em all.
The festivals kicked off with the Pusan International Film Festival (PIFF) which was one I had actually been aware of before arriving in Korea, a week-long affair I was really excited about attending. It's one of the largest film festivals in Asia, with over 300 films from 60 countries, and an emphasis on showcasing talent from third world countries. I managed to see eight films, ranging from a brutally chilling account of boy soldiers in Liberia, to Bill Maher's hilarious religious documentary, to an horrendously boring story about an Argentine sailor in Ushuaia.
The following weekend I traveled with a half-dozen friends to Jinju, a relatively small town about an hour and a half from Busan, for the Nam River Lantern Festival. I wasn't expecting much, the image of red lanterns hanging outside Chinese restaurants in Seattle stuck in my head. It was rather beautiful though: large, colorful figures floating down a wide river through Jinju, the warm lights from within the thin material casting a glow on the water. There were multi-colored warriors, bright cartoon characters, vivid green dragons, plump ladybugs. The area was packed, and we wandered for several hours along the riverbank, stopping only for Turkish ice cream and meat on a stick, which we munched happily under a new moon.
Last weekend I braved the crowds to attend the Fireworks Festival here in Busan, on Gwang-an Beach. Again, I figured a firework show is a firework show, and I've seen plenty 4th of July parades in my day. I considered not going, especially when I heard that crowds were estimated at 1.5 million, but decided at the last minute to join my friends. The amount of people there was exorbitant, even by Korean standards. We arrived about 4 hours before the show began to secure a spot on the sand, and people just kept coming and coming...and coming. At 7pm, the police closed off the beach, which is exactly around the time I decided I had to go to the bathroom. I've never had such a difficult time. It being Korea, there was only ONE designated restroom for all million plus people and a line that easily stretched 1/2 mile. I finally managed to beg an ajumma (older lady) to let me use the bathroom in her restaurant and then battled the cranky old men and the drunk young men to get back onto the beach.
But man, was the show worth it. I've never seen a fireworks production like it, with a fountain of white lights streaming from the Gwang-an bridge, green lasers shooting across the sea and onto the skyscrapers lining the boardwalk, the music of Queen reverberating from all sides. The word "fireworks" in Korean literally means "fire flowers" and it is a perfect description - the fireworks were like bursts of bright light blooming in the nightsky. I'm sure I will never see another show like it.
Somewhere in the midst of all this, my childhood friend Jenna departed for the United States. We have enjoyed two months of Korean adventures, and the pace certainly didn't slow during her last week here. Besides all the festivals, we finally managed to try san nak ji (live octopus) in Jagalchi fish market, which was a horrifyingly wonderful experience. We wandered from stall to stall for a while, inquiring at each: "San nak ji?" Finally, a man in yellow coveralls smiled, reached into a tank, and pulled out a glistening grey octopus the size of a small child.
Jenna and I squealed as we watched him chop the head off and then slice the thing up into pieces and slide them onto a plate for us. The pieces looked like slugs, wriggling madly toward the center of the dish as though they really were trying to mold themselves back together. My first attempt at swallowing a piece went awry quickly - octopus is very chewy, and the bite was too big, lodging in my throat and writhing about as I desperately tried to cough it back up. I finally managed to get a few pieces down, but not without a lot of giggling and screeching from both sides of the table.
We did have a lovely going-away dinner and party for Jenna on her last night, a testimony to all the friends she's made in just a few short months. We ate barbequed duck, drank too much soju, and stumbled home as the sun began to rise around 6am.
My studio apartment is a lot quieter these days now that I'm without Jenna, and even the Street Meat Man has been asking her whereabouts, but I'm keeping busy sculpting the minds of Korean youth, getting scrubbed down in Korean bathhouses, and contemplating my next culinary adventure (dog meat, perhaps?)
Monday, October 06, 2008
Summer's Final Adventures....
This week, I am discussing the idea of memory with my Intensive Listening class. More specifically, I am teaching them about age and its affects on our mental abilities, how well we can learn and retain information. I ask them who they think would perform better on a simple memory test: them or their parents?
The answer, of course, is them. As children, their ability to learn and remember is much greater. My class this week brings me back to the novel I just finished reading, called “The Year of Fog,” about a woman who loses her child on a San Franciscan beach early one morning and struggles to remember details that will lead to the girl’s discovery. Memory, the narrator says, is not unlike a photograph with multiple exposures. One event is layered on top of another, so that it is impossible to distinguish between the details of the two. The older we get, the more multiple-exposure memories we have. As the years progress and we experience more and more, the mini-narratives that make up our lives become distorted and corrupted.
I feel like I’ve experienced so much this year that my memories are already beginning to blur together. I notice now, as I am experiencing something, I am already trying to re-create the memory, to picture it in my mind or figure out how I will re-tell the details later. Memory is such a fragile thing, something that begins to erode before it’s even fully formed, and I don’t want to forget a single moment. This is impossible, I know, but through words and pictures, I will try nonetheless….
Last week two of my roommates from training in Seoul traveled out to Busan to visit, which was amazing. My Khanh, who also attended university in Seattle, stayed with me in my little studio, and we spent Saturday drinking tons of coffee and people-watching on the beach. We’d been trying to spread the last days of our Indian Summer as far as we could, and I think our afternoon on Haeundae may have been the end of sundresses and swimming for a while. On Sunday we wandered Jagalichi market, one of the largest fish markets in the country, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It reminded me of both Seattle and Africa, the smell of fresh fish, vendors wrapping their catch in paper and shouting to passerby, the wriggling and bulgy-eyed seafood laid out before us. The weather was overcast and gray, perfect for trying some sort of Korean pumpkin stew, which everyone disliked but me.
On Wednesday, Jenna and I finished classes early and boarded a bus to Gyeongju, about one hour north of Busan. The city is known as “the museum without walls” as it holds more tombs, temples, rock carvings, pagodas and ruins of palaces than any other place in South Korea. Of course, Jenna and I had a mere 16 hours so we awoke at 7am, took a bus to Bulguksa temple (a UNESCO World Heritage site) to admire the Shilla architecture amongst green gardens, and then left quickly to escape the throngs of Korean school children. We hailed a taxi up a winding road to the mountains above Bulguksa, and the grotto of Seokguram (another World Heritage site). There we paid $4 and then walked up a path through a thick wood, leading to the main attraction: a huge golden image of Buddha, where Koreans were kneeling to pray and more school children were shouting and taking pictures. I think the peacefulness was a bit lost on us, as the 400 or so grade schoolers seemed to spoil any serenity or quiet, but it was beautiful and well worth seeing.
Our tour de Korea continued Saturday, when we decided spur of the moment to hop over to Jeju island. The trip was easily one of the highlights of my time in Korea thus far. We arrived in Jeju-si, the island’s capital, early Saturday afternoon. The island atmosphere was immediately evident, the bright blue water sparkling below us as the plane landed, the bright green palm trees outside the arrival gate at the airport. Backpacks slung over shoulders, we immediately caught a cab to Sanseonghyeol Shrine, a site about 10 minutes from the airport. The shrine sits in the middle of a quiet and lush garden, an area that is basically three holes in the ground where legend says three brothers (Go, Bu and Yang) rose from the ground and founded the island. We wandered the grounds, snapped photos of the three holes and had the chance to see two of the remaining harubang, 250 year old statues carved from lava rock that were built to protect the island’s fortresses in the 1700s.
After dinner we boarded an old bus to Seongsan Illchulbong, a town about an hour and half away on the extreme eastern tip of the island. We were dropped off on the side of the road around 10pm, and were surprised to find the village dark and quiet. After walking up and down the high street several times, knocking on motel doors and questioning cab drivers snoozing on the side of the road, we found a place to sleep. Jenna’s cell phone woke us at 5:30am for our planned sunrise hike to the top of Illchulbong crater, a lush green volcano that plunges over the edge of the island, above the churning South Sea. Seeing the small village in the soft pre-dawn light was incredible; viewing it from the top of a jagged crater was breathtaking. I felt like I was at the edge of the world, the wind howling around me, the bright lights of fishing boats below as they returned to shore, the gray sky meeting gray sea before me. My friend Adam always recommends seeing a new place from its highest point, and doing so in Seongsan was magnificent.
Following a short nap, we boarded another teal-colored city bus to Manganggul, about 30 minutes north-east of Seongsan, to see the world’s longest system of lava-tube caves. We ate okdom for lunch, a salty snapper fish with transparent eyes, along with black rice porridge and plenty of kimchi. Then we bundled up and descended into the caves, dark black tunnels that were formed around 30,000 years ago as the lava cooled and hardened. For the first time since arriving in this country, I enjoyed over a half-hour of quiet as we followed the small lights on the cave floor, stepping over deep puddles and occasionally seeing the dark figures of Korean tourists as they passed by in the opposite direction. The cave’s ceiling seemed to be perspiring, dripping cold water atop my head from the ground above. I wish I had paid more attention in Mr. Border’s geology class in high school, trying desperately to remember the name of rocks or the processes they go through, but the eerie passage through the tubes was interesting regardless.
In mid-afternoon we boarded a ferry bound for Udo Island, off the eastern edge of Jeju. Skimming the grey waters on a cloudy day reminded me of Seattle, and the ferry rides from Bainbridge or Whidbey, bundled up in scarves and sweaters and sipping coffee. The island, about 16 km around, seems unspoiled, the only signs of tourism being the scooter rentals available as you step off the ferry. We were unable to convince the middle-aged Korean man to rent us a scooter, instead offered rickety old bicycles with metal baskets. Jenna’s was bright pink and mine a suitable green, and steering the things was like trying to maneuver a grocery cart with a wonky wheel. We cycled around the perimeter of the island, past the porous black rocks and startling white light house set against the lush greenness of the island. We spotted the weathered old ladies crouched on the rocks and in the sand, sorting through their catch of the day with quick fingers, staring out at the sky that looked like it could open at any moment.
The whoosh of the frothy waves was all I could hear along that winding road, keeping an eye on the flash of pink that was Jenna’s bike ahead of me, her hair blowing out behind her, the same jet-black as the lava rocks to our right. We walked along a white coral beach, coarse sand littered with shells and sea glass of varying aqua colors. It was serene and beautiful and unforgettable, and undoubtedly one of my favorite afternoons in South Korea.
The answer, of course, is them. As children, their ability to learn and remember is much greater. My class this week brings me back to the novel I just finished reading, called “The Year of Fog,” about a woman who loses her child on a San Franciscan beach early one morning and struggles to remember details that will lead to the girl’s discovery. Memory, the narrator says, is not unlike a photograph with multiple exposures. One event is layered on top of another, so that it is impossible to distinguish between the details of the two. The older we get, the more multiple-exposure memories we have. As the years progress and we experience more and more, the mini-narratives that make up our lives become distorted and corrupted.
I feel like I’ve experienced so much this year that my memories are already beginning to blur together. I notice now, as I am experiencing something, I am already trying to re-create the memory, to picture it in my mind or figure out how I will re-tell the details later. Memory is such a fragile thing, something that begins to erode before it’s even fully formed, and I don’t want to forget a single moment. This is impossible, I know, but through words and pictures, I will try nonetheless….
Last week two of my roommates from training in Seoul traveled out to Busan to visit, which was amazing. My Khanh, who also attended university in Seattle, stayed with me in my little studio, and we spent Saturday drinking tons of coffee and people-watching on the beach. We’d been trying to spread the last days of our Indian Summer as far as we could, and I think our afternoon on Haeundae may have been the end of sundresses and swimming for a while. On Sunday we wandered Jagalichi market, one of the largest fish markets in the country, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It reminded me of both Seattle and Africa, the smell of fresh fish, vendors wrapping their catch in paper and shouting to passerby, the wriggling and bulgy-eyed seafood laid out before us. The weather was overcast and gray, perfect for trying some sort of Korean pumpkin stew, which everyone disliked but me.
On Wednesday, Jenna and I finished classes early and boarded a bus to Gyeongju, about one hour north of Busan. The city is known as “the museum without walls” as it holds more tombs, temples, rock carvings, pagodas and ruins of palaces than any other place in South Korea. Of course, Jenna and I had a mere 16 hours so we awoke at 7am, took a bus to Bulguksa temple (a UNESCO World Heritage site) to admire the Shilla architecture amongst green gardens, and then left quickly to escape the throngs of Korean school children. We hailed a taxi up a winding road to the mountains above Bulguksa, and the grotto of Seokguram (another World Heritage site). There we paid $4 and then walked up a path through a thick wood, leading to the main attraction: a huge golden image of Buddha, where Koreans were kneeling to pray and more school children were shouting and taking pictures. I think the peacefulness was a bit lost on us, as the 400 or so grade schoolers seemed to spoil any serenity or quiet, but it was beautiful and well worth seeing.
Our tour de Korea continued Saturday, when we decided spur of the moment to hop over to Jeju island. The trip was easily one of the highlights of my time in Korea thus far. We arrived in Jeju-si, the island’s capital, early Saturday afternoon. The island atmosphere was immediately evident, the bright blue water sparkling below us as the plane landed, the bright green palm trees outside the arrival gate at the airport. Backpacks slung over shoulders, we immediately caught a cab to Sanseonghyeol Shrine, a site about 10 minutes from the airport. The shrine sits in the middle of a quiet and lush garden, an area that is basically three holes in the ground where legend says three brothers (Go, Bu and Yang) rose from the ground and founded the island. We wandered the grounds, snapped photos of the three holes and had the chance to see two of the remaining harubang, 250 year old statues carved from lava rock that were built to protect the island’s fortresses in the 1700s.
After dinner we boarded an old bus to Seongsan Illchulbong, a town about an hour and half away on the extreme eastern tip of the island. We were dropped off on the side of the road around 10pm, and were surprised to find the village dark and quiet. After walking up and down the high street several times, knocking on motel doors and questioning cab drivers snoozing on the side of the road, we found a place to sleep. Jenna’s cell phone woke us at 5:30am for our planned sunrise hike to the top of Illchulbong crater, a lush green volcano that plunges over the edge of the island, above the churning South Sea. Seeing the small village in the soft pre-dawn light was incredible; viewing it from the top of a jagged crater was breathtaking. I felt like I was at the edge of the world, the wind howling around me, the bright lights of fishing boats below as they returned to shore, the gray sky meeting gray sea before me. My friend Adam always recommends seeing a new place from its highest point, and doing so in Seongsan was magnificent.
Following a short nap, we boarded another teal-colored city bus to Manganggul, about 30 minutes north-east of Seongsan, to see the world’s longest system of lava-tube caves. We ate okdom for lunch, a salty snapper fish with transparent eyes, along with black rice porridge and plenty of kimchi. Then we bundled up and descended into the caves, dark black tunnels that were formed around 30,000 years ago as the lava cooled and hardened. For the first time since arriving in this country, I enjoyed over a half-hour of quiet as we followed the small lights on the cave floor, stepping over deep puddles and occasionally seeing the dark figures of Korean tourists as they passed by in the opposite direction. The cave’s ceiling seemed to be perspiring, dripping cold water atop my head from the ground above. I wish I had paid more attention in Mr. Border’s geology class in high school, trying desperately to remember the name of rocks or the processes they go through, but the eerie passage through the tubes was interesting regardless.
In mid-afternoon we boarded a ferry bound for Udo Island, off the eastern edge of Jeju. Skimming the grey waters on a cloudy day reminded me of Seattle, and the ferry rides from Bainbridge or Whidbey, bundled up in scarves and sweaters and sipping coffee. The island, about 16 km around, seems unspoiled, the only signs of tourism being the scooter rentals available as you step off the ferry. We were unable to convince the middle-aged Korean man to rent us a scooter, instead offered rickety old bicycles with metal baskets. Jenna’s was bright pink and mine a suitable green, and steering the things was like trying to maneuver a grocery cart with a wonky wheel. We cycled around the perimeter of the island, past the porous black rocks and startling white light house set against the lush greenness of the island. We spotted the weathered old ladies crouched on the rocks and in the sand, sorting through their catch of the day with quick fingers, staring out at the sky that looked like it could open at any moment.
The whoosh of the frothy waves was all I could hear along that winding road, keeping an eye on the flash of pink that was Jenna’s bike ahead of me, her hair blowing out behind her, the same jet-black as the lava rocks to our right. We walked along a white coral beach, coarse sand littered with shells and sea glass of varying aqua colors. It was serene and beautiful and unforgettable, and undoubtedly one of my favorite afternoons in South Korea.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Time Keeps on Ticking, Ticking....
“I got bamboozled by Korea,” says my new friend Anthony over dinner the other night.
I couldn’t agree more. Days in Korea seem to slip quickly through my hands, so that each evening I am left scratching my head and wondering where the hours have gone. Time becomes an even more baffling idea when you consider that I have become a certifiable insomniac since arriving here - like so many people, it seems. Bedtime has quickly been pushed back from midnight, to one o’clock, then two o’clock and now it seems difficult for me to pull back my sheets anytime before 4am. Jenna insists that there must be caffeine in the kimchi, but it definitely appears that some of the Korean productivity has rubbed off on the foreigners: I now found myself grocery shopping in Home Plus at 2am, reviewing class material until 3:30am, and then pulling myself groggily out of bed at 10am to hike a mountain or view a temple. As someone said to me the other day: “You either leave Korea an alcoholic, an insomniac, or a sex-addict.” Maybe being sleep-deprived isn’t so bad, after all.
There have been many changes for me in the last few weeks, and I am starting to feel somewhat settled into my new life as a “Tee-cha!” There are about 8 CDI school branches in Busan, and I changed schools two weeks ago, going from working at the smallest branch in the city to CDI headquarters, which is the largest school with over 850 students and about 16 teachers. My classrooms ballooned from four students to sixteen, and as of today, I have just a scratch of a voice left.
Keeping so many elementary school kids on task and quiet can be difficult, although the discussions and debates we have are far more animated than at my old branch, which I enjoy. My precocious students quickly become some of my favorites, although I am fast learning disciplinary tactics as well. So far they seem most frightened when I stand in the center of the room in dead silence while I wait for them to quiet down, a killer look on my face. Some of my fellow teachers have suggested using “pressure points” (placing a hand VERY firmly on a kid’s shoulder) which is undetectable by the CCTV we are constantly monitored on. This may sound bad, but most of the students are punished at school by being slapped on the hand with a ruler in front of the class (brings back memories of Mr. Roberts’ paddle at MY elementary school!)
I also finally moved into a permanent apartment last weekend, which has bettered my quality of life dramatically. Although my temporary housing was quaint, I was keen to live somewhere that didn’t involve a dark walk home through back alleys after work at night. And after seeing several roaches scurrying up the walls, I was more than ready to change locations!
My new apartment is in a very modern high-rise building called Sky SK Hub, and I am on the 18th floor with a magnificent view of the city and the nearby mountain. The studio is, of course, completely tiny but it has a REAL shower (enclosed with a door!), a large fridge and washing machine. The best part is that my building is attached to a huge store called Tesco Home Plus, which is like a Super Target with clothes, electronics, food, home supplies and everything else you can imagine. It is also connected to a large mall, with a movie theater, a food court, Dunkin Donuts, Coffee Bean and Tea, and across the sky bridge is the entrance to the subway. I literally have to step in the elevator and everything is at my fingertips. It’s so convenient and fantastic!
Things have been hectic with all the changes, trying to buy things for my apartment like silverware and bedding and most importantly, a kettle for tea. But Jenna and I have attempted to get out and about before work each day, especially since Jenna leaves soon to return to the States. Last week we spent a morning at Hurshimchung public bath, the largest jjimjilbang (bath house) in Asia, which my guidebook says is the ultimate Korean experience. These spas are a cornerstone of Korean life, frequented by both sexes where you can bathe in anything from ginseng to pine needles.
Jenna and I had read up on spa etiquette before arriving, but were still unprepared for the ritual that followed. First, you receive a key from the front desk. Then you walk up to the first set of lockers and remove your shoes. You pad barefoot farther into the locker room, where you remove all your clothes. After wrapping the key around your wrist, you follow the line of Korean women up a ramp into a cleaning area. There are rows of plastic stools, where you are supposed to sit and thoroughly cleanse yourself. Loofahs and sponges are provided, and many of the old Korean ladies were vigorously scrubbing each other’s backs and arms, while Jenna and I attempted not to dissolve into giggles (rather unsuccessfully, I think).
After twenty minutes of scrubbing, we entered a huge circular room with a domed skylight in the center. Different spas were scattered throughout, with hundreds of Korean ladies chatting quietly, soaking or doing water exercises. Jenna and I started out in the salt baths, and then moved to the grape baths. The key to the jjimjilbang is to switch back and forth from hot and cold water, which invigorates the senses. We endured the piping hot sauna, soaked in tea leaves, and had our backs pummeled by large waterfalls. Strangely wonderful, we decided at the end, and I would definitely go again.
If hours of spa soaking don't give you an idea of how serious Koreans are with personal grooming and appearances, let me just say that I think most people in this country are looks-obsessed. Koreans pick apart every minute detail of their bodies, so that it isn’t “I’m feeling fat today” but “My neck is too short” or “My nostrils are too narrow.” Our Korean friend Monica, who is absolutely tiny, often complains of her “large face.” Because her face is so large, she explains, her parents will not allow her to grow her hair long (she is twenty-four years old). Shorter hair is more flattering to her big face, she says.
It is completely baffling, and strangely reminds me of the film “Means Girls” when the three popular girls stand before a mirror, analyzing their thighs and foreheads and every other body part. “I used to think there was just fat or skinny,” Lindsay Lohan’s character narrates, "but apparantly there are a lot of things that can be wrong with your body." Monica has also explained to us about the lines and shapes Korean women aspire to create on their bodies – some of this was lost in translation, I’m sure, but it goes something like this: a woman’s chest should create an M shape; her back should be a V and so on. All this makes me think twice before leaving the house! Gotta look good for the Korean women who will undoubtedly be sizing me up on the subway.
It is hard to believe I have been here in Korea for almost 5 weeks now - somehow it feels like an eternity since I slept in my own bed or drove down the streets of Palm Desert, and yet each day in Busan flashes by in a blur. Even now, I know I must dash as I have to quickly change into my teacher clothes, catch the subway and prepare for the onslaught of students that will noisily fill my classroom in mere hours...
"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else"
- Emily Dickinson.
I couldn’t agree more. Days in Korea seem to slip quickly through my hands, so that each evening I am left scratching my head and wondering where the hours have gone. Time becomes an even more baffling idea when you consider that I have become a certifiable insomniac since arriving here - like so many people, it seems. Bedtime has quickly been pushed back from midnight, to one o’clock, then two o’clock and now it seems difficult for me to pull back my sheets anytime before 4am. Jenna insists that there must be caffeine in the kimchi, but it definitely appears that some of the Korean productivity has rubbed off on the foreigners: I now found myself grocery shopping in Home Plus at 2am, reviewing class material until 3:30am, and then pulling myself groggily out of bed at 10am to hike a mountain or view a temple. As someone said to me the other day: “You either leave Korea an alcoholic, an insomniac, or a sex-addict.” Maybe being sleep-deprived isn’t so bad, after all.
There have been many changes for me in the last few weeks, and I am starting to feel somewhat settled into my new life as a “Tee-cha!” There are about 8 CDI school branches in Busan, and I changed schools two weeks ago, going from working at the smallest branch in the city to CDI headquarters, which is the largest school with over 850 students and about 16 teachers. My classrooms ballooned from four students to sixteen, and as of today, I have just a scratch of a voice left.
Keeping so many elementary school kids on task and quiet can be difficult, although the discussions and debates we have are far more animated than at my old branch, which I enjoy. My precocious students quickly become some of my favorites, although I am fast learning disciplinary tactics as well. So far they seem most frightened when I stand in the center of the room in dead silence while I wait for them to quiet down, a killer look on my face. Some of my fellow teachers have suggested using “pressure points” (placing a hand VERY firmly on a kid’s shoulder) which is undetectable by the CCTV we are constantly monitored on. This may sound bad, but most of the students are punished at school by being slapped on the hand with a ruler in front of the class (brings back memories of Mr. Roberts’ paddle at MY elementary school!)
I also finally moved into a permanent apartment last weekend, which has bettered my quality of life dramatically. Although my temporary housing was quaint, I was keen to live somewhere that didn’t involve a dark walk home through back alleys after work at night. And after seeing several roaches scurrying up the walls, I was more than ready to change locations!
My new apartment is in a very modern high-rise building called Sky SK Hub, and I am on the 18th floor with a magnificent view of the city and the nearby mountain. The studio is, of course, completely tiny but it has a REAL shower (enclosed with a door!), a large fridge and washing machine. The best part is that my building is attached to a huge store called Tesco Home Plus, which is like a Super Target with clothes, electronics, food, home supplies and everything else you can imagine. It is also connected to a large mall, with a movie theater, a food court, Dunkin Donuts, Coffee Bean and Tea, and across the sky bridge is the entrance to the subway. I literally have to step in the elevator and everything is at my fingertips. It’s so convenient and fantastic!
Things have been hectic with all the changes, trying to buy things for my apartment like silverware and bedding and most importantly, a kettle for tea. But Jenna and I have attempted to get out and about before work each day, especially since Jenna leaves soon to return to the States. Last week we spent a morning at Hurshimchung public bath, the largest jjimjilbang (bath house) in Asia, which my guidebook says is the ultimate Korean experience. These spas are a cornerstone of Korean life, frequented by both sexes where you can bathe in anything from ginseng to pine needles.
Jenna and I had read up on spa etiquette before arriving, but were still unprepared for the ritual that followed. First, you receive a key from the front desk. Then you walk up to the first set of lockers and remove your shoes. You pad barefoot farther into the locker room, where you remove all your clothes. After wrapping the key around your wrist, you follow the line of Korean women up a ramp into a cleaning area. There are rows of plastic stools, where you are supposed to sit and thoroughly cleanse yourself. Loofahs and sponges are provided, and many of the old Korean ladies were vigorously scrubbing each other’s backs and arms, while Jenna and I attempted not to dissolve into giggles (rather unsuccessfully, I think).
After twenty minutes of scrubbing, we entered a huge circular room with a domed skylight in the center. Different spas were scattered throughout, with hundreds of Korean ladies chatting quietly, soaking or doing water exercises. Jenna and I started out in the salt baths, and then moved to the grape baths. The key to the jjimjilbang is to switch back and forth from hot and cold water, which invigorates the senses. We endured the piping hot sauna, soaked in tea leaves, and had our backs pummeled by large waterfalls. Strangely wonderful, we decided at the end, and I would definitely go again.
If hours of spa soaking don't give you an idea of how serious Koreans are with personal grooming and appearances, let me just say that I think most people in this country are looks-obsessed. Koreans pick apart every minute detail of their bodies, so that it isn’t “I’m feeling fat today” but “My neck is too short” or “My nostrils are too narrow.” Our Korean friend Monica, who is absolutely tiny, often complains of her “large face.” Because her face is so large, she explains, her parents will not allow her to grow her hair long (she is twenty-four years old). Shorter hair is more flattering to her big face, she says.
It is completely baffling, and strangely reminds me of the film “Means Girls” when the three popular girls stand before a mirror, analyzing their thighs and foreheads and every other body part. “I used to think there was just fat or skinny,” Lindsay Lohan’s character narrates, "but apparantly there are a lot of things that can be wrong with your body." Monica has also explained to us about the lines and shapes Korean women aspire to create on their bodies – some of this was lost in translation, I’m sure, but it goes something like this: a woman’s chest should create an M shape; her back should be a V and so on. All this makes me think twice before leaving the house! Gotta look good for the Korean women who will undoubtedly be sizing me up on the subway.
It is hard to believe I have been here in Korea for almost 5 weeks now - somehow it feels like an eternity since I slept in my own bed or drove down the streets of Palm Desert, and yet each day in Busan flashes by in a blur. Even now, I know I must dash as I have to quickly change into my teacher clothes, catch the subway and prepare for the onslaught of students that will noisily fill my classroom in mere hours...
"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else"
- Emily Dickinson.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Tee-cha! Tee-cha!
Sometimes I seriously question the material I am being asked to teach my students.
The level of my students’ English varies – some of them have lived in English-speaking countries and speak almost fluently, while others seem to understand only half of what I’m saying. It is hardest with my lower-level middle school kids; it seems that if they don’t have a solid grasp by the teenage years, it’s a lot more difficult for them to move forward. The younger ones just soak things up like sponges and are far more fearless about speaking.
Some of the material I am teaching is particularly difficult, and fairly amusing. My most difficult class has been Memory English with some painfully shy teenagers. Class usually starts out like this:
“How are you guys doing today?” I ask in my “teacher voice” (louder and far more energetic than I really feel).
Silence. Bored, blank stares.
I try a different approach. “CHARLIE! How was your weekend?”
He stares at me. Looks kind of petrified.
“Okay, Charlie. Was your weekend GOOD, or BAD?” I ask, doing thumbs-up or thumbs-down gesture.
Now he looks positively fearful. Still no response.
“GOOD, Charlie? Or BAD? FUN? Or NOT FUN?”
At this point, even if they understand me, they’re probably thinking Who is this crazy girl waving her thumbs around and talking to me like I’m deaf?
Still, no response.
And let’s be clear here: this is the class where we are reading a book about The Salem Witch Trials. That’s right – The Salem Witch Trials. I can’t get the kids to tell me if their weekend was good or bad, but I’m going to explain words like Puritan, trial, bewitched and religious freedom?!
The best part came when we were looking at a picture of the women accused of being witches. An angry crowd of Puritans is pushing her toward the edge of a hill.
“Okay, guys, what do you think is happening in this picture?” I ask. “Does the girl look happy or sad?”
Blank stares.
Then, a hand goes up.
“Tee-cha! Tee-cha, what is that thing by neck?”
I glance at the picture. The girl clearly has a noose around her neck.
“Ummmm….I think that’s a rope,” I say, hoping they won’t pursue the topic.
“Rope, tee-cha? Why rope?”
“Uh, yeah. Um, I think the girl might be hanged if they think she is a witch.”
“Hanged, tee-cha? What means hanged?”
Please picture a half-dozen innocent Korean children staring up at you, wondering what on earth a rope is doing around this girl’s neck in the picture. I really thought the low-point was when I had to explain “hanged” to them, and the scared looks that followed. But no. The low point really came about twenty minutes later, when we were writing practice sentences.
The example sentence read “People today may not understand the Salem Witch Trials, but it is important for them to learn about it.” The class was then supposed to construct a similar sentence with the words “Foreigners” and “Columbine.” The sentence they were supposed to put together would read something like “Foreigners may not understand Columbine, but it is important for them to learn about it.”
“Tee-cha! Tee-cha! Columbine? What Columbine?”
“What the hell kind of material is this?” is what I’m thinking at this point.
So then I had to explain to my innocent Korean students about Columbine and listen as they gasped in horror.
“Tee-cha? Tee-cha, students shoot tee-cha? Shoot students?” they asked, horrified.
And they still don’t understand what a Puritan is.
The level of my students’ English varies – some of them have lived in English-speaking countries and speak almost fluently, while others seem to understand only half of what I’m saying. It is hardest with my lower-level middle school kids; it seems that if they don’t have a solid grasp by the teenage years, it’s a lot more difficult for them to move forward. The younger ones just soak things up like sponges and are far more fearless about speaking.
Some of the material I am teaching is particularly difficult, and fairly amusing. My most difficult class has been Memory English with some painfully shy teenagers. Class usually starts out like this:
“How are you guys doing today?” I ask in my “teacher voice” (louder and far more energetic than I really feel).
Silence. Bored, blank stares.
I try a different approach. “CHARLIE! How was your weekend?”
He stares at me. Looks kind of petrified.
“Okay, Charlie. Was your weekend GOOD, or BAD?” I ask, doing thumbs-up or thumbs-down gesture.
Now he looks positively fearful. Still no response.
“GOOD, Charlie? Or BAD? FUN? Or NOT FUN?”
At this point, even if they understand me, they’re probably thinking Who is this crazy girl waving her thumbs around and talking to me like I’m deaf?
Still, no response.
And let’s be clear here: this is the class where we are reading a book about The Salem Witch Trials. That’s right – The Salem Witch Trials. I can’t get the kids to tell me if their weekend was good or bad, but I’m going to explain words like Puritan, trial, bewitched and religious freedom?!
The best part came when we were looking at a picture of the women accused of being witches. An angry crowd of Puritans is pushing her toward the edge of a hill.
“Okay, guys, what do you think is happening in this picture?” I ask. “Does the girl look happy or sad?”
Blank stares.
Then, a hand goes up.
“Tee-cha! Tee-cha, what is that thing by neck?”
I glance at the picture. The girl clearly has a noose around her neck.
“Ummmm….I think that’s a rope,” I say, hoping they won’t pursue the topic.
“Rope, tee-cha? Why rope?”
“Uh, yeah. Um, I think the girl might be hanged if they think she is a witch.”
“Hanged, tee-cha? What means hanged?”
Please picture a half-dozen innocent Korean children staring up at you, wondering what on earth a rope is doing around this girl’s neck in the picture. I really thought the low-point was when I had to explain “hanged” to them, and the scared looks that followed. But no. The low point really came about twenty minutes later, when we were writing practice sentences.
The example sentence read “People today may not understand the Salem Witch Trials, but it is important for them to learn about it.” The class was then supposed to construct a similar sentence with the words “Foreigners” and “Columbine.” The sentence they were supposed to put together would read something like “Foreigners may not understand Columbine, but it is important for them to learn about it.”
“Tee-cha! Tee-cha! Columbine? What Columbine?”
“What the hell kind of material is this?” is what I’m thinking at this point.
So then I had to explain to my innocent Korean students about Columbine and listen as they gasped in horror.
“Tee-cha? Tee-cha, students shoot tee-cha? Shoot students?” they asked, horrified.
And they still don’t understand what a Puritan is.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Stranger in a Strange Town
It seems funny to think that Korea is known as the "Land of the Morning Calm" (also sounds like the name of a Yogi Tea?) since so much about Korea seems to be about change and "bali, bali!" (hurry, hurry!) I nearly get plowed down in the subway on my way to work, and little old ladies continually cut in front of me when queing for the bathroom.
Although the lack of common courtesy (in my Western eyes, at least) can be frustrating at times, it seems to be the way Koreans have found so much success in recent years. They have the 13th largest economy in the world, and Seoul was just named the globe's 3rd most expensive city. This is a huge leap from the 1950s, when Korea was one of the poorest countries in Asia - nowadays, the technology boggles your mind...I can use my thumbprint to get into my office and people watch TV shows on their cell phones on the subway commute home. It's the most wired country in the world, and South Koreans have the world's 2nd highest IQ (after Hong Kong). However, they also work at least 12 hour days, scoff at holidays, and children attend school on Saturdays. I guess there's always a price to pay.
My life here is a bit more slow-paced, and I'm happy to say that I enjoy more than the 5 or 6 hours of sleep my elementary students get on a nightly basis. I'm still not completely settled in - there were a few problems with my housing (the first studio CDI showed me was tiny, dark and depressing) and I ended up spending 3 nights with my friend Jenna in her matchbox studio apartment, sharing a single bed. I'm now in a temporary apartment, if you can call it that. Like many Asian countries, space in Korea is tight, and my "room" is roughly 300 square feet or so. I live very close to the subway, down a series of back-alleys in what seems to be a very local neighborhood. I have yet to see any other foreigners near my apartment; there is an older Korean lady who sets up her fruit stand near the entrance to the subway each day, selling a basket of apples for 3,000 won, and the wrinkled couple who have a little grill and sell fried meat on a stick to passerby. There is also what looks like a track around the subway station, where young people rollerskate and middle-aged women power walk near the water run-off that collects directly beneath the station (I have yet to see an actual park in Busan).
My room is little more than 4 white walls, a bed, and a stove but it gets good light and I'm lucky enough to have a small washing machine. Bathrooms in Korea are a curious thing: there is no tub or enclosed shower, just a shower head directly over the sink. You have to turn a knob - one direction and the sink turns on, the other direction and the shower head turns on (too many times I have forgotten to turn the knob as I went to wash my hands and had the shower soak me just as I was about to leave the house). I have to also remember to shelter the toilet paper to keep it from getting soggy, and re-locate any toiletries I want to keep from getting wet.
Most Koreans still sleep on a yo, or mat, so finding sheets in Korea has proved impossible (I am told I may be able to buy them on an American army base, but the price could be close to $100!) Luckily, I brought my REI sleeping bag shell, and have been sleeping inside that atop my bare (and extremely hard) mattress. Perhaps all my back problems will be solved after a few months here...
I am at the end of my 2nd week of teaching, which has been really fun. I have a fairly intense schedule, probably the most rigorous at my branch, with the most hours and a very wide variety of classes. I teach a 3-hour class at 4pm, which consists of elementary school kids, and then another 3-hour class at 7pm, with middle school kids. The elementary school kids are usually the most energetic and absorb the English language at a much faster rate - plus, they're adorable. Teaching is a highly respected profession in Korea (with such a huge emphasis on education) and students usually refer to me as "Teacher" - as a kind of title, I suppose. Only with their accents, it sounds more like "Tee-cha! Tee-cha!" as they attempt to get my attention.
One of the more bizarre aspects of my job, and Korea in general, is that we are constantly recorded. "Closed-Circuit TV," or CCTV, is installed absolutely EVERYWHERE in Korea and you are always being watched. I have a camera set up in the corner of my classroom, and my Head Instructor reviews my work on a weekly basis. I don't mind that too much, but the important thing to remember is that I'm always being recorded - which means private conversations with co-workers before class or phone conversations at your desk afterwards. When I explained to my students that we don't have that kind of surveillance (yet) in the States, they were shocked and baffled.
"But, but...what happens without CCTV?" my student Danny asked. This is the kid who informed me that he even has CCTV in his HOUSE. ("Who watches it?" I asked. "Your parents?" He seemed stumped. "I don't really know," he admitted).
Although there are only 3 other American teachers at my school, we have a half-dozen Korean staff as well. Monica, our receptionist, has become our fast friend and she is truly one of the most adorable girls I have ever met. She is always styled from head-to-toe: patent black ankle boots, colored tights, short dresses belted at the waist. Her English isn't quite conversational, but we somehow manage to communicate, mainly using her cell phone's dictionary. This has resulted in some hilarious translations...for example:
We are in a bar near PNU, and Jenna and I order a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea for the entire group. I pour her a glass, and she sips it tenatively. After 10 minutes, her drink sits untouched.
"Do you not like it?" I ask, pointing to her drink.
She looks confused.
"The drink," I say. "No good? You want different drink?"
She quickly pulls our her Chanel bag and reaches for the cell phone, punching a word into the dictionary.
"It's...." she begins, holding the phone's screen up to my face.
I read the text: "Poisonous, toxic, substance that can cause death," it says. Probably a pretty accurate description of a Long Island, actually!
My new apartment might actually be located at the same subway stop as Monica's, so I'm looking forward to hanging out with her more often. She has big goals to improve her English and visit the States, so spending time together will hopefully help her in those endeavors.
My life in the last 3 weeks has seemed anything but calm, much more bali, bali but it's been exciting and new and different, and those are always wonderful adjectives to describe life.
Although the lack of common courtesy (in my Western eyes, at least) can be frustrating at times, it seems to be the way Koreans have found so much success in recent years. They have the 13th largest economy in the world, and Seoul was just named the globe's 3rd most expensive city. This is a huge leap from the 1950s, when Korea was one of the poorest countries in Asia - nowadays, the technology boggles your mind...I can use my thumbprint to get into my office and people watch TV shows on their cell phones on the subway commute home. It's the most wired country in the world, and South Koreans have the world's 2nd highest IQ (after Hong Kong). However, they also work at least 12 hour days, scoff at holidays, and children attend school on Saturdays. I guess there's always a price to pay.
My life here is a bit more slow-paced, and I'm happy to say that I enjoy more than the 5 or 6 hours of sleep my elementary students get on a nightly basis. I'm still not completely settled in - there were a few problems with my housing (the first studio CDI showed me was tiny, dark and depressing) and I ended up spending 3 nights with my friend Jenna in her matchbox studio apartment, sharing a single bed. I'm now in a temporary apartment, if you can call it that. Like many Asian countries, space in Korea is tight, and my "room" is roughly 300 square feet or so. I live very close to the subway, down a series of back-alleys in what seems to be a very local neighborhood. I have yet to see any other foreigners near my apartment; there is an older Korean lady who sets up her fruit stand near the entrance to the subway each day, selling a basket of apples for 3,000 won, and the wrinkled couple who have a little grill and sell fried meat on a stick to passerby. There is also what looks like a track around the subway station, where young people rollerskate and middle-aged women power walk near the water run-off that collects directly beneath the station (I have yet to see an actual park in Busan).
My room is little more than 4 white walls, a bed, and a stove but it gets good light and I'm lucky enough to have a small washing machine. Bathrooms in Korea are a curious thing: there is no tub or enclosed shower, just a shower head directly over the sink. You have to turn a knob - one direction and the sink turns on, the other direction and the shower head turns on (too many times I have forgotten to turn the knob as I went to wash my hands and had the shower soak me just as I was about to leave the house). I have to also remember to shelter the toilet paper to keep it from getting soggy, and re-locate any toiletries I want to keep from getting wet.
Most Koreans still sleep on a yo, or mat, so finding sheets in Korea has proved impossible (I am told I may be able to buy them on an American army base, but the price could be close to $100!) Luckily, I brought my REI sleeping bag shell, and have been sleeping inside that atop my bare (and extremely hard) mattress. Perhaps all my back problems will be solved after a few months here...
I am at the end of my 2nd week of teaching, which has been really fun. I have a fairly intense schedule, probably the most rigorous at my branch, with the most hours and a very wide variety of classes. I teach a 3-hour class at 4pm, which consists of elementary school kids, and then another 3-hour class at 7pm, with middle school kids. The elementary school kids are usually the most energetic and absorb the English language at a much faster rate - plus, they're adorable. Teaching is a highly respected profession in Korea (with such a huge emphasis on education) and students usually refer to me as "Teacher" - as a kind of title, I suppose. Only with their accents, it sounds more like "Tee-cha! Tee-cha!" as they attempt to get my attention.
One of the more bizarre aspects of my job, and Korea in general, is that we are constantly recorded. "Closed-Circuit TV," or CCTV, is installed absolutely EVERYWHERE in Korea and you are always being watched. I have a camera set up in the corner of my classroom, and my Head Instructor reviews my work on a weekly basis. I don't mind that too much, but the important thing to remember is that I'm always being recorded - which means private conversations with co-workers before class or phone conversations at your desk afterwards. When I explained to my students that we don't have that kind of surveillance (yet) in the States, they were shocked and baffled.
"But, but...what happens without CCTV?" my student Danny asked. This is the kid who informed me that he even has CCTV in his HOUSE. ("Who watches it?" I asked. "Your parents?" He seemed stumped. "I don't really know," he admitted).
Although there are only 3 other American teachers at my school, we have a half-dozen Korean staff as well. Monica, our receptionist, has become our fast friend and she is truly one of the most adorable girls I have ever met. She is always styled from head-to-toe: patent black ankle boots, colored tights, short dresses belted at the waist. Her English isn't quite conversational, but we somehow manage to communicate, mainly using her cell phone's dictionary. This has resulted in some hilarious translations...for example:
We are in a bar near PNU, and Jenna and I order a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea for the entire group. I pour her a glass, and she sips it tenatively. After 10 minutes, her drink sits untouched.
"Do you not like it?" I ask, pointing to her drink.
She looks confused.
"The drink," I say. "No good? You want different drink?"
She quickly pulls our her Chanel bag and reaches for the cell phone, punching a word into the dictionary.
"It's...." she begins, holding the phone's screen up to my face.
I read the text: "Poisonous, toxic, substance that can cause death," it says. Probably a pretty accurate description of a Long Island, actually!
My new apartment might actually be located at the same subway stop as Monica's, so I'm looking forward to hanging out with her more often. She has big goals to improve her English and visit the States, so spending time together will hopefully help her in those endeavors.
My life in the last 3 weeks has seemed anything but calm, much more bali, bali but it's been exciting and new and different, and those are always wonderful adjectives to describe life.
I Got Seoul, but I'm Not a Soldier
So here I am, in ROK (that's Republic of Korea, for those of you who don't know). I arrived on Sunday, August 18th after a 13 hour flight (which really didn't bother me in the slightest - I promptly fell asleep upon sitting down, and didn't wake up until two hours before we touched down. Just in time for breakfast!) Came out of the terminal and was immediately disoriented and confused...I've never been to a place where I can't even recognize the symbols or letters of a language. I'm sure I looked just as confused as I felt, as was immediately approached by a Korean man offering a taxi. I knew, knew that I should turn him down, but was so tired and everything was in Korean and this man was promising me a swift ride to my hotel...so I followed him. Almost instantly knew I had made a mistake, when he lead me down some dark alley to his waiting car.
"How much is the taxi?" I asked.
"Meter," he replied. I breathed a sigh of relief. If the taxi is run on a meter, there's no way this guy can rip me off, I thought. Wrong again.
About five minutes into the taxi ride, the meter was already at 20,000 won (roughly $20). I started to panic a bit, as I knew the airport was nearly an hour from downtown Seoul, where I was staying.
"How much do you think this is going to be?" I asked him.
"Eh?" he replied.
"How much? Money? The whole ride?" I asked again.
"Meter," he said.
"Yes, I know meter. But THE WHOLE RIDE? HOW MUCH?"
"Kom somida gu sayo," is what his reply sounded like to my foreign ears.
When the meter hit 50,000 won I really started to freak out. Eventually, he seemed to understand why I was having a heart attack in his back seat.
"One hundred fifty thousand won," he said. "Maybe two hundred."
$150?! Maybe $200?! For a bleepin' taxi ride from the airport?! Using many hand signs and gestures, I tried to communicate with him that I only had 100,000 won in my wallet. That was about the point he started darting glances to the side of the road, and I worried he'd just drop me off in the middle of the freeway at 5 o'clock in the morning in a foreign city. Luckily, his black heart must have warmed slightly, because he said he'd do a service to his country and "only" charge me 100,000 won for the ride to the taxi. Many thanks, kind sir. How I made it through hitchhiking trips through southern Africa for 3 months but can't get a decent rate on a taxi from the airport in Seoul is beyond me. These traveling pants need to be dusted off, me thinks.
Needless to say, I was agitated when I arrived at my hotel in Seoul. I was staying with about 70 other teachers from CDI (Chung Dahm Institute) who would be going through training and orientation with me throughout the week. After which, we would travel to our respective CDI schools across Korea to begin teaching. We stayed in a really nice area of Seoul called Gangnam, which was bright and buzzing - a million restaurants and cafes and bars all stacked 100 stories high, neon lights blazing and hordes of Korean teenagers walking the streets in the latest Asian fashions (and some seriously high heels on the girls). Once it got light, I hit the pavement and went to my first Korean restaurant, where there were luckily pictures on the menu and I could just point at whatever looked appetizing.
Korean food is seriously spicy, and comes with at least half a dozen side dishes, including the Korean obsession - kimchi (pickled cabbage covered in spices). Like with everything, Koreans are also intense drinkers (you can't even begin to understand the saying "Work hard, play hard" until you've been to Korea). The beer houses and bars are absolutely everywhere, and getting trashed with your boss and co-workers on weekend nights (or any night, for that matter) is commonplace. Soju is the Korean equivalent to vodka, and the stuff is enough to put hair on your chest - they knock it back like there's no tomorrow. On the other end of the spectrum, there is an entire market dedicated to hangover cures - energy drinks, food, special tablets you can take to assist you in drinking MORE, etc.
I really lucked out with my accomodations in Seoul - where almost everyone else shared a hotel room with another teacher, I got a suite with 2 bedrooms and shared with 3 other girls - one girl from Seattle (yay!), another from Texas, and the third from Pittsburgh. We all immediately clicked, and spent the next week studying together, trying new foods, and complaining about our lack of sleep. Because sleep we did not - training was intense. We were divided into sections, and assigned various classes we would be trained in. I ended up in Memory English and Intensive Listening, both of which consist of a lot of memorization of passages from books, listening comprehension and vocabulary. I took classes for about 6 hours a day, and we were put through a vigorous string of tests - grammar, mock teaching, class structure. We were also shipped off to a Korean hospital one afternoon for drug testing, weight and heigh measurements, chest x-rays, blood testing and vision and hearing tests. I could hardly see straight by the end of the week. It may have been an insight into the life of Korean children though - if you aren't aware, Koreans are fiercely serious about education and kids here are subjected to about 15 hour days. They usually attend school from about 8am to 3pm, and then they spend the remainder of the day at "haegwons," or academies. I am teaching at an English haegwon, but the kids will also usually attend a science haegwon and a math haegwon, all of which run about 2-3 hours each. They get home around 10 or 11pm, eat dinner, and then study until 2am or so. Then wake up and do it all over again. Insanity, huh?
After our final tests on Friday, a group of about 20 of us got all dressed up, bought several bottles of soju and hit the town for our first experience of Korean nightlife. Things don't start until late here, around 1am, and people don't stumble home until the subway starts again at 6am. We went to a nightclub called Harlem, and had a great time. Saturday I packed up all my things and got on the bullet train to Busan, in the very south of the country. It's a city of about 3.5 million people on the coast and many people call it the "San Francisco of Korea." There are definitely similarities - it's a large port city, and the views of the water are really beautiful. The dialect is supposedly much harsher here than in Seoul, but my American ears cannot tell the difference.
I am living in the north-eastern part of Busan (the city is fairly spread out), near Pusan National University, or PNU. The area reminds me very much of the U-District in Seattle: slightly scruffy around the edges, with lots of bars and cafes, cheap restaurants and little boutiques. The only difference here is that most of the students are dressed to the nines, and certainly don't slum around in university sweatshirts and sweatpants (I'm going to have to step up my game while I'm here - Koreans are very aware of looks and appearances!)
I am going to be teaching at a new CDI branch a few subway stops from PNU with 3 other American teachers. And even after a week of arduous training, I know everything will be different once I actually step foot in the classroom...that's when the real adventure will begin!
"How much is the taxi?" I asked.
"Meter," he replied. I breathed a sigh of relief. If the taxi is run on a meter, there's no way this guy can rip me off, I thought. Wrong again.
About five minutes into the taxi ride, the meter was already at 20,000 won (roughly $20). I started to panic a bit, as I knew the airport was nearly an hour from downtown Seoul, where I was staying.
"How much do you think this is going to be?" I asked him.
"Eh?" he replied.
"How much? Money? The whole ride?" I asked again.
"Meter," he said.
"Yes, I know meter. But THE WHOLE RIDE? HOW MUCH?"
"Kom somida gu sayo," is what his reply sounded like to my foreign ears.
When the meter hit 50,000 won I really started to freak out. Eventually, he seemed to understand why I was having a heart attack in his back seat.
"One hundred fifty thousand won," he said. "Maybe two hundred."
$150?! Maybe $200?! For a bleepin' taxi ride from the airport?! Using many hand signs and gestures, I tried to communicate with him that I only had 100,000 won in my wallet. That was about the point he started darting glances to the side of the road, and I worried he'd just drop me off in the middle of the freeway at 5 o'clock in the morning in a foreign city. Luckily, his black heart must have warmed slightly, because he said he'd do a service to his country and "only" charge me 100,000 won for the ride to the taxi. Many thanks, kind sir. How I made it through hitchhiking trips through southern Africa for 3 months but can't get a decent rate on a taxi from the airport in Seoul is beyond me. These traveling pants need to be dusted off, me thinks.
Needless to say, I was agitated when I arrived at my hotel in Seoul. I was staying with about 70 other teachers from CDI (Chung Dahm Institute) who would be going through training and orientation with me throughout the week. After which, we would travel to our respective CDI schools across Korea to begin teaching. We stayed in a really nice area of Seoul called Gangnam, which was bright and buzzing - a million restaurants and cafes and bars all stacked 100 stories high, neon lights blazing and hordes of Korean teenagers walking the streets in the latest Asian fashions (and some seriously high heels on the girls). Once it got light, I hit the pavement and went to my first Korean restaurant, where there were luckily pictures on the menu and I could just point at whatever looked appetizing.
Korean food is seriously spicy, and comes with at least half a dozen side dishes, including the Korean obsession - kimchi (pickled cabbage covered in spices). Like with everything, Koreans are also intense drinkers (you can't even begin to understand the saying "Work hard, play hard" until you've been to Korea). The beer houses and bars are absolutely everywhere, and getting trashed with your boss and co-workers on weekend nights (or any night, for that matter) is commonplace. Soju is the Korean equivalent to vodka, and the stuff is enough to put hair on your chest - they knock it back like there's no tomorrow. On the other end of the spectrum, there is an entire market dedicated to hangover cures - energy drinks, food, special tablets you can take to assist you in drinking MORE, etc.
I really lucked out with my accomodations in Seoul - where almost everyone else shared a hotel room with another teacher, I got a suite with 2 bedrooms and shared with 3 other girls - one girl from Seattle (yay!), another from Texas, and the third from Pittsburgh. We all immediately clicked, and spent the next week studying together, trying new foods, and complaining about our lack of sleep. Because sleep we did not - training was intense. We were divided into sections, and assigned various classes we would be trained in. I ended up in Memory English and Intensive Listening, both of which consist of a lot of memorization of passages from books, listening comprehension and vocabulary. I took classes for about 6 hours a day, and we were put through a vigorous string of tests - grammar, mock teaching, class structure. We were also shipped off to a Korean hospital one afternoon for drug testing, weight and heigh measurements, chest x-rays, blood testing and vision and hearing tests. I could hardly see straight by the end of the week. It may have been an insight into the life of Korean children though - if you aren't aware, Koreans are fiercely serious about education and kids here are subjected to about 15 hour days. They usually attend school from about 8am to 3pm, and then they spend the remainder of the day at "haegwons," or academies. I am teaching at an English haegwon, but the kids will also usually attend a science haegwon and a math haegwon, all of which run about 2-3 hours each. They get home around 10 or 11pm, eat dinner, and then study until 2am or so. Then wake up and do it all over again. Insanity, huh?
After our final tests on Friday, a group of about 20 of us got all dressed up, bought several bottles of soju and hit the town for our first experience of Korean nightlife. Things don't start until late here, around 1am, and people don't stumble home until the subway starts again at 6am. We went to a nightclub called Harlem, and had a great time. Saturday I packed up all my things and got on the bullet train to Busan, in the very south of the country. It's a city of about 3.5 million people on the coast and many people call it the "San Francisco of Korea." There are definitely similarities - it's a large port city, and the views of the water are really beautiful. The dialect is supposedly much harsher here than in Seoul, but my American ears cannot tell the difference.
I am living in the north-eastern part of Busan (the city is fairly spread out), near Pusan National University, or PNU. The area reminds me very much of the U-District in Seattle: slightly scruffy around the edges, with lots of bars and cafes, cheap restaurants and little boutiques. The only difference here is that most of the students are dressed to the nines, and certainly don't slum around in university sweatshirts and sweatpants (I'm going to have to step up my game while I'm here - Koreans are very aware of looks and appearances!)
I am going to be teaching at a new CDI branch a few subway stops from PNU with 3 other American teachers. And even after a week of arduous training, I know everything will be different once I actually step foot in the classroom...that's when the real adventure will begin!
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