My Apartment: A Photo Essay

Realizing that I have never actually posted any pictures of my apartment, I thought now would be a good time to do so, as my apartment is all Christmas-ified and reasonably clean (nobody wants to wake up on Christmas to filth and grime). 

It's a bit sparce, but it's a palace compared to what the place was in my first month here, when I was literally living out of my suitcase and the only piece of furniture was my bed. 

Which you see here:

A vastly uncomfortable sleeping station until I was struck by the idea to buy a new comforter and use the old one as a mattress pad. Now this is where I have the occasional dream of my students attacking me. The slanted ceiling creates excellent acoustics for rain.  

I bought this set of drawers from a nearby market. They are very light, but the vendor insisted on pushing them behind me on a cart as I awkwardly led him to my apartment building, where he ran them upstairs and left them outside my door without another word.

This door leads to my balcony, and then my laundry room, but it was too dark to take pictures of those. Another time. 

 

My little Christmas tree, which I am quite pleased with.


        

Pretty lights. 

The kitchen, where very little cooking actually occurs. 

Lots of coffee is made in this place. 

My guitar sits in this corner until I decide to play it. Also, my books, and a plant that I am probably getting closer to killing every day. 

The bathroom. That is boring. Note the shower, though. 

My reading/movie watching/reading the news while drinking a cup of coffee area. Apparently, cheap pillows only come in primary colors in South Korea. 

That's the basic tour. I really need to get some more decorations up in here, but I'm pretty happy with the place for now. Just thought I'd give you a little visual of the homestead...

Annyong he kahseyo. 

My Students Know More About Technology Than I Do

One of my kindergarten students has been hounding me for my phone number all week. I said, "Dorothy, what are you going to do? Call and text message me?" She smiled and answered, "Yes."

I finally gave in today, and less than one minute ago I received this message on my phone:

"hi erin teacher? i love erin teacher i am dorothy bye (heart)."

I don't think any more commentary is necessary. 

The Institution of Institutions

"Marriage is a great institution, but I'm not ready for an institution yet."

-Mae West

I used to quite enjoy starting essays with a quotation. It was a like a "Get Out of Writing an Introductory Sentence Free" card, so I've decided to revisit this pastime, though with a lot less than a grade hinging on its reception. 

As you may have deduced, the topic of this blog will be . . . marriage! Or, more specifically, weddings. Korean weddings, to be precise. 

Despite having worked here only three months (to the DAY, in fact), I was invited to attend my coworker's wedding this past Sunday. Don't be fooled--just because it was held on a Sunday doesn't mean it was a religious ceremony. In fact, the word "wedding" might be throwing you off a bit here, too, if you're imagining anything like the weddings you have attended in your western part of the world. It was nothing like Princess Di's wedding, so just please, just stop picturing that. Stop it. 

I felt a bit awkward being invited in the first place, but I was told that it is standard to invite all of your coworkers to a wedding here, so I embraced the cultural difference and prepared myself to attend. But first I needed some questions answered. 

This particular coworker, English name "Heather," has a son who attends Hanyang Oregon preschool. He is one of my favorite students, and almost ludicrously intelligent. We hang out a lot in the teacher's room, where he enjoys playing with the translator widget on my laptop and looking up maps of different countries. In the U.S., I wouldn't question the fact that a woman who is about to get married already has a five-year-old child, but in South Korea it is a bit of an oddity. Women's roles are changing here, but I have gathered that they are expected to remain abstinent until marriage. 

So. Had Heather been widowed? It was a possibility, though she didn't seem like the tragically widowed type. Had she been raising Sam as a single mother out of wedlock? That would be almost unheard of in South Korea. These weren't questions I could directly pose to Heather, so Angela and I had to wait until we could corner another Korean coworker, Luke, about the details. Like any polite Korean, we asked the question indirectly.

-So Luke, are you excited for the wedding tomorrow?

-I don't know. Maybe.

-Luke, we have a question for you.

-Ah . . . no, no, no. 

-You already know what we're going to ask you?

-No . . . Well . . . about Heather? (Nervous laughter). 

-Yes. Could you, uh, tell us about that? 

-I don't know. No. Well. Okay. 

Luke proceeded to give us a far more detailed account of why Heather has a son before being married than we possibly could have expected. Apparently, Heather has been legally married for years, on account of what we Americans might refer to as a "shotgun wedding." Luke informed us that, after watching a World Cup game several years ago, Heather and her then-boyfriend went to a "love motel" and . . . well, Luke just clapped his hands together at this point, but you get the idea. Heather became pregnant with Sam and, without an official ceremony, the kids got married. Now, years later, they decided to do it the old-fashioned way, before friends, family, and coworkers they hardly know. 

What baffles me about this story is that, in this somewhat repressed society, a coworker might know the intimate details of your child's conception, but when asked at a work-dinner if they are drunk (while the soju has been flowing, mind you), a Korean will merely respond, " . . . Maybe?" 

Bah. Never mind all that. The important part of all this is to inform you of how bizarre the actual wedding was. I met my coworkers at the subway station, which we took to a stop where we could catch a shuttle bus, which took us to . . . "The Wedding Castle."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. That is exactly what it sounds like. I wish I had pictures, but my camera ate its batteries and those things aren't as readily available here as they are in the U.S. The best way I can describe The Wedding Castle is to say, imagine if Las Vegas and Disneyland had a merger. This place would be the result. 

Towering over us as we exited the bus was a castle fit for Sleeping Beauty, the Seven Dwarves, and Aladdin combined. Chandeliers and fake Greek columns decked the halls, and we ascended the staircase to the viewing room, where Heather sat on a veritable throne having her picture taken with anyone who might happen to pass by. 

People milled about the hallways, but these people were not all guests for Heather's wedding. At least three weddings occurred during the span of an hour and a half at this wedding hall, kind of like a Ford assembly line for marriage. Nobody knew who belonged where. 

Unbeknownst to me, the ceremony began suddenly (with or without an announcement, it's hard to say), and so, too, began the theatrics of a Korean wedding. The room in which the ceremony was held was smaller than most churches but larger than most waiting rooms. It felt a bit like both. People moved about and talked as if they were attending an ice cream social. Children fidgeted and played with the flower arrangements. Heather sat at the back of the aisle in yet another throne, looking more demure than usual. 

And then the show began. 

Cue the dance music. And the light show. I am not making this up. Multi-colored lights flashed and waved about as the bride walked down the aisle of raised glass that hovered above flower petals lit from below. And then the fog machines went off. In case the lights and music hadn't cued people in on the fact that the bride was walking down the aisle, there were fog machines to announce, "Here! Here she is! Look over here!" I felt like a child seeing snow for the first time. 

The rest of the ceremony was short, 25 minutes tops, and I didn't understand a lick of it as it was all, of course, conducted in Korean. Afterwards, we were rushed upstairs for a buffet lunch, where we ate a strange variety of food and handed the bride some money in an envelope. You don't give gifts at weddings here, just money. 

In a way, the whole thing got me to thinking, why DO Americans tend to insist that their wedding is the most important day of their life? Why not just say, screw it, let's pretend like we're at Disneyland and throw our guests a kooky party? 

I should hope that your wedding isn't the best day of your life, because that means it's all downhill from there. Eesh. 

Still, the whole artificial feel of the wedding wasn't too appealing, either. I'm not sure I'm going to be jumping on the Korean-style wedding bandwagon any time soon. 

Maybe Vegas and Disneyland should band together and create an authentic-feeling, intimate brand of wedding ceremony that they could market to people who are sick of commercialism and artifice. 

I bet there would be a lot of money in that. 

No Business Like Show Business

Hoowhee! It has been a while, my friends, it has been a WHILE. Terribly sorry, but I was busy flexing my well-honed theatre muscles in order to put on a production of great eminence and renown. Not many people have the opportunity to make use of the theatre skills they acquired throughout high school and college just six months after graduation, but I am one of the lucky few. 

I am, of course, referring to the annual Hanyang Oregon Preschool Concert. 

What? You've never heard of it? Have you been living in hole?? Well, let me give you an overview.

A little over two weeks ago, Angela and I were informed that we would be taking part in the yearly concert put on by the kindergarten (I am coming to realize that the terms "kindergarten" and "preschool" are interchangeable here). Apparently, they had been rehearsing for said concert for over two months, but, as per usual, no one thought it was necessary to mention this to us until it was time for us to join the rehearsal process. 

So, for two weeks, Angela and I forwent our usual kindergarten teaching duties in order to take part in what would become one of the most curious amalgamations of performances that I have ever witnessed. 

There are four kindergarten classes in all, each named after the international symbol of children: fruit. Cherry class, Apple class, Kiwi class, and Papaya class each had the daunting task of performing at least one song and dance number as well as a skit of some sort. The kicker: all, all of it had to be in English. 

Now, I adore my kindergarten students, but most of them cannot manage to string together words from their English vocabularies in order form a complete sentence. If they do have this skill, it becomes a challenging game of "Guess Which Word the Child Just Tried to Pronounce." Suffice it to say, I was a bit skeptical as to whether they would be able to remember entire scripts in a foreign language. 

Never underestimate the abilities of small children. 

The day of the performance, we traveled to a real, honest-to-God theatre near Hanyang Oregon (up to this point I had been under the impression that the concert would take place at the school). I practically began drooling at the sight of lighting instruments, a fly system, the booth, and a proscenium. I began running around like an inmate just released on parole, racing up the old, metal spiral staircase to luxuriate in the catwalks and stroking the curtains like they were long lost childhood possessions. I've missed theatre just a bit since I arrived in Korea. 

As I lapped up the atmosphere of the theatre, a crew of men arrived and began defacing it with the most flamboyant, garish set ever conceived by man or beast. I do hope no one takes offense when I say this, but the best way to describe the stage by the time they were finished with it is as a set for a gay pride parade for children. 

The set designer seemed to think that "rainbow" was an apt color scheme for the production, as everything from the footlights to the castle backdrop to the inexplicable giant inflatable mushrooms looked like they were painted by ROY G. BIV himself. 

Check it out. I took this photo before the actual performance, during the pre-show run-through, so you don't get the full effect of the costumes, but you get the idea. This is a shot of Apple class rehearsing "I Have a Dream." No relation to the speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. 

The costumes added a whole new, Liberace-like effect to the production. As the children arrived, the air tingled and quivered with the kind of excitement that can only precede a theatrical production. I hadn't had a chance to see the costumes before they climbed into them, but once they did, the dressing room was transformed into a dwelling of creatures that resembled cartoon characters. And what costumes they were!                                                                                            

Here you see Dorothy and Julia prepping 

for Papaya's dance number, "The Twist," and Jenny all decked out in her baby chick outfit for Cherry's rendition of "Are you My Mommy?" 

Below you can observe the brides and grooms preparing for the Apple wedding ceremony. 

And, of course, Kiwi class in their . . . cheerleader . . .? outfits getting ready for the "Hey Mickey" cheer dance. 

Despite the fact that the set had no relation whatsoever to the performance itself, and that the costumes only occasionally matched the song or skit my students were trying to enact, the whole thing turned out to be a wonderfully exuberant, vaudevillian production. What exactly the teachers who came up with the concept for the show intended by combining a children's wedding ceremony, an imitation of a Korean soldier television show, and a retelling of a Korean folk tale with a 50's-like sock-hop dance, cheerleading, and a Taekwondo demonstration (among other things) is unclear, but it was marvelously entertaining. 

I was the MC for the first half of the show, and later got to show off my acting chops by playing my student's girlfriend (don't ask, absolutely mystifying) and then running onstage as an ogre/goblin who emerges from a pumpkin in order to punish the selfish Nolbu of Korean folk fame. Yes indeedy. 

The kids were very pleased with themselves, and, as I could see from their delighted expressions in the audience, so were their parents. Strange as it may seem, I felt a bit like a proud parent myself, watching my three to six-year-old students pull off a full length production like little virtuosos. 

Now that the production is over, it seems a shame to go back to teaching them as I did before. After seeing them sing and dance with such gusto, how can I honorably return to shouting English letters at them as they jabber in Korean, color their desks, and pick their noses? 

The only solution is to begin covertly teaching them another production behind the backs of the Korean kindergarten teachers. Next stop: Korean equivalent of Broadway with "Fiddler on the Roof." 

I think they can handle it.  

Hanguk Halloween and Expat Elections

You'll note that I've made some changes to the format at the request of some whose eyes are too aged to read light print on a black background with ease. I'm not sure I like what I've done with it, so I might be dinking around with the settings for a while. Feedback and suggestions are welcome. 

Since my last post, there have been two events that were very strange to experience outside of the U.S. I think I'll write about them according to both chronology and importance. 

So the first event up to bat is . . .

HALLOWEEN

Halloween, as you probably know, is traditionally a western holiday, with its origins in the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (thank you Wikipedia), though it has more recently become popular in many non-western countries thanks to the glorification of American pop culture. So, as you can imagine, I was very interested to see Korea's take on this spooky pastime. 

My hagwon originally planned to have a Halloween party for all of the students, but, like so many other plans at Hanyang Oregon Language Institute, no one ever followed through. An unfortunate situation, but I still feel a bit new here to start running around and demanding that the other teachers set up a haunted house, make caramel apples, and create a pin-the-tail-on-the-monster game for the students. 

Still, most of the students managed to come to school in some fantastic as well as inscrutable costumes. 

This is one of my favorites. Who wants to take a stab at what Dorothy dressed up as? It's okay--she didn't know either. It reminds me of a blue version of those muppets on acid in Labyrinth who take their heads off and throw them at Jennifer Connelly. 

I lied a little bit earlier; the kindergarten teachers actually did manage to plan a nice party for the four kindergarten classes, which somehow involved handing out wrapped presents to the students, but the kindergarten is sort of separate from the rest of the school, so that was a bit different. 

The problem with throwing a Halloween party for kindergarteners is the very essence of Halloween: it's supposed to be scary. The older children enjoyed themselves immensely, but when I arrived, several of them quickly ushered me into a classroom, where I found little Tommy cowering under a desk, refusing to come out on account of the creepy decorations and the scary costumes some of teachers were wearing. 

I was eventually able to coax Tommy out of his lair of safety, at which point I witnessed

something not generally associated with the spirit of Halloween: the compassion of children. Sure, my students frequently punch and hit each other, say things in Korean that make the other students cry, and refuse to share the toys, but every once in a while I'll spot an instance that proves that they actually care about each other. In the picture to the right, you see Paul and Danny, some of my oldest kindergarten students, comforting poor Tommy, which they proceeded to do for the remainder of the party. Tommy, as you may have surmised, is the one in the middle with the expression of pure terror on his face. 

I myself put together an unimaginably lame costume, composed entirely from a cheap witch hat that I found at a grocery store and a scarf that I tried to pass off as a cape. At least all of my students understood what I was supposed to be. 

Annie's usually much livelier than this, I promise. It almost looks like we color coordinated, doesn't it? 

After the kindergarten party, the rest of the Halloween teaching day involved me drawing deformed versions of haunted houses, pumpkins, vampires, and ghosts on the white board in order to teach my students these words in English. A well-experienced teacher would have had the foresight to bring in pictures of these glorious symbols of Halloween, but alas . . . well-experienced is far from the correct adjective to describe my skill level. 

I also had one heck of a time explaining exactly what trick-or-treating actually is. I believe, though cannot confirm, that some of my students understand the concept of trick-or-treating, but the rest of them appeared to think that the phrase is English for "give me candy! NOW!," and can be said at any moment, in any situation. So, in each class I would try to demonstrate the practice by running outside of the classroom, knocking on the door, and shouting "Trick-or-Treat!" when a student opened it. Despite my best efforts, most of the students would just race up to me with their hands out and very adamantly exclaim, "TRICK. OR. TREAT!" I would give them a piece of candy, at which point they would hold out the other hand and repeat the phrase, as if I may have forgotten that I just gave them candy. 

It was a fun, if distorted version of the Halloween I know and love. 

On to more serious matters:

THE ELECTION

I cannot accurately describe how bizarre it was to be outside of the states on November 4th. It would have been strange during any election year, but, as we have been made painfully aware of by the media, this was a historic election, and it was the first time I regretted coming to South Korea. Not for long, of course, but where on earth is teleportation technology when you need it? I could have zipped right back to Portland for the announcement of the results and the subsequent raucous celebration and been back in time to teach my morning classes. 

Actually, that's not in any way true because of the 17 hour time difference (yes, it used to be 16, but apparently daylight savings time isn't very "in" here), but since the technology still doesn't exist (I'm looking at you, NASA), I feel I have the right to make hypothetical claims here.

So, like any anal-retentive, terrified American, I spent the weeks preceding the election consuming every tidbit of information I could find from any news source I deem reliable--The New York Times, CNN, The BBC, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report . . . 

I watched. I waited. I annoyed my coworkers with my constant babble about American politics.

And then. 

Early afternoon on November 5th at Hanyang Oregon, I saw that Barack Obama had won Pennsylvania. And Ohio. Projected to win in Florida and Virginia. I hadn't wanted to believe it until that exact moment, was sure some terrible Bradley Effect would come and pull the rug of hope right out from under my feet, but suddenly all that built up stress from watching the campaign unfold just dissolved. I didn't start screaming or crying like I expected I would; instead I sat quietly smiling at my computer screen, unaware of anything else going on around me. And I couldn't wipe that smile off my face for the rest of the day. 

I felt a bit like a brain-washing imperialist when I spent the rest of the day teaching my classes to chant "O-bam-a! O-bam-a!," but I couldn't help myself. The entire kindergarten now knows that if they come up to me and say, "Teacher! Obama, very, very, very good!" they will receive an extremely enthusiastic high five. 

But it's not all imperialism. It's easy to forget how much more informed other countries are about the rest of the world than America is. Almost all of my students already knew who Barack Obama was, some even exclaiming, "Teacher! I see Obama TV! Very good!" High five.

If the vote had been up to the entire world, Obama would have won in a ridiculous landslide. Somewhere along the campaign way, I heard a conservative pundit remark that "other countries aren't afraid of Barack Obama, but they're afraid of John McCain." Is this a good thing? Shouldn't we be hoping to work together with other countries rather than to strike fear into their hearts? In The New York Times, one columnist wrote that Obama was ahead in the polls because he has a similar mindset to Ronald Reagan, who said, "Whatever else history may say about me when I'm gone, I hope it will record that I appealed to your best hopes, not your worst fears." I think this perfectly encapsulates the difference between the way McCain ran his campaign, and the way Obama ran his.  

Now, I don't think John McCain is a bad person. I was pleased to hear he gave a very decent, gracious concession speech. I feel a bit sorry for him, really, because I think he compromised so much of what he used to believe in in order to run a very Republican campaign. On election day, as the final numbers came in, he looked much older than he did just the day before. 

Sarah Palin, however, I have no pity for. But that's another long rant waiting to happen. 

I've never been a very patriotic person, but, like so many others, this is the first time in my life when I can say I really am proud of my country. I'm not so naive and idealistic that I think Obama's going to pop into the White House and sweep away the nation's problems with a wave of his hand, but I do think that, for the first time in 8 years, we will have a president who is intelligent, rational, and well-spoken. A president who has the best interests of our country at heart. 

Almost more important than the president himself is what this election says about the evolving mindset of the American people. The majority didn't vote out of fear, they voted out of hope. Race is still an issue in our country, but it wasn't enough of an issue to stop us from electing a biracial man to our highest office. We're making strides, people, we're making strides. 

The only damper on this election for me was the passing of the gay marriage bans. I mean, California? Really? We thought you were a blue state! As Jon Stewart pointed out, some of the black voters in California who helped elect Obama must also have voted to ban gay marriage. So you're just going to turn it right around and take away the freedoms of others? That just doesn't make sense to me. 

The gay rights movement clearly has a much farther distance to travel than the civil rights movement at this point, but there are such strong parallels between the two that I can't believe it's not pointed out more often. Let's not forget that interracial marriage was still illegal in 16 states until 1967. 

I could go on and on, but this post is already extraordinary long, and I think it's time that I stop playing make-believe political columnist. 

Happy Halloween and Gobama.     

Dear Diary . . .

It's been pointed out many times that once you try to analyze exactly what it is that makes something funny, the humor of the thing begins to dissolve. That said, I'm not going to try to analyze the specifics of the funny thing I'm going to discuss in this post, but I may attempt to touch on the generalities. Sorry, I can't help it. 

So. It's pretty much always funny when someone garbles a language that's not their own, yes? A lot of people don't like to admit this, because they somehow think it's not politically correct, but the fact of the matter is, people of every race, every background, and every native language will horribly screw up a new language that they are learning at one point or another, and the results are hilarious. It's half of what makes David Sedaris funny. It's all of what makes Everything is Illuminated funny (sorry Jonathan Safran Foer, but I'm still jealous of your very young literary success). 

The thing is, it's not the person's failure to grasp the correct usage of the language that's amusing. It's the language itself, with all of its rules and exceptions to those rules (and Lord knows English has too many of those) that we laugh at. Suddenly, without realizing it, someone is breaking those rules, and the language can do absolutely diddly squat about it. Now that's funny. 

Just the other day, I was trying to properly say goodbye to one of my coworkers (there's more than one way). Instead:

-Annyong Kyeseyo!

-Ah, no, you just said "Son of a Bitch." 

Whoopsie. 

The annoying saying that "rules were meant to be broken" works especially well for language. When someone knows a language like they know the back of their hand, they can twist and bend it almost to the point of breaking, and as a result they often communicate better than those who follow the rules. When someone breaks a language rule without realizing it, it can be sheer delight for the listener, like overhearing a secret conversation you know you should just walk away from. "Take that language!" you think. "I knew those months I spent in eighth grade diagramming sentencing weren't a waste!" I broke at least two rules of English grammar in this last paragraph, just for you smart alecs who were going to point that out.  

After that extremely long preface (yes, that was a preface), I'll get to the point of all this. Almost all of my students have "diaries" that they are assigned to write in periodically, and I'm just in stitches after reading and correcting them, so I thought I would share. As these are not technically real diaries, hence the quotation marks earlier, and as I am not their doctor or psychiatrist, I don't think I have any confidentiality issues here. I didn't tell them I was going to do this though. . . so let's just keep this our little secret. 

These are all written verbatim, for your enjoyment. 

1. 10/16: Study by Observation

I went to study by observation.

We're going to Seoul Land. So get

elated. But We're ride on play

structure.

I so angry so, I satisfying

friend. Now. I think severe.

Then A Bee fly to me so I 

kick a bee. however.

Bee is die.

My friend with surprise.

I don't see a bee. 

There is something oddly poetic about this entry. He starts with an expectation of elation, but then the poem ends in an unexpected death by his own hand (foot). That's beautiful. 

Here's another little piece of poetry:

2. 10/9: pomposition

today is the Korean alphabet day.

So, I wrote pomposition at school.

It is boring and angry.

I wrote this. contents.

Subject is fall.

red dragonfly is beautiful. . . . . .

Maple tree is beautiful. . . . . .

fall sky is blue and high!

So, Fall is beautiful!

The End.

Again, how can you deny the poetry here? Is the pomposition boring and angry, or is school boring and it makes him angry? We may never know. 

This next entry comes from a diary that I myself assigned one day after a class discussion about extra-terrestrial life. It's written by the same student who asked me what my blood type was, to give you some context.

3. 10/14: Would you like to meet an alien? why why not?

No, I wouldn't, but I want, because I wonder 

alien, alien. . . so wonder

So I want to meet.

I want to look them. 

You are--alien!

(heart) 3 (heart)

When I tried to explain to her that she was actually correct in calling me an alien since I am from another country, I think I frightened her a bit. She may now believe that I am from Neptune. That's what I get for trying to assign something interesting. 

This last one actually concerns me a bit. It comes from a very good student in a class of otherwise unruly boys. 

4. 10/17: Homework

I was every day come and go

English, math, etc. Academy.

I was laborious. However put up

with becaus cannot help and, It 

is my life.

I think 'Everyone has my life

as'

But, I don't put up with homework.

I did my homework rest time.

I want rest Academy. one month. 

I think this poor kid is verging on depression; at the very least he is overworked. And he's only ten years old. 

Which brings me to the unfunny part of these diaries. This is not the only diary I've read over that talks about the stress of homework and academy. I know all kids complain about homework, but I think these kids actually have something to complain about. The Korean school system is still somewhat of an enigma to me, but I'll try to explain what I understand so far. 

Every Korean child who is in the middle class or above goes to at least 3 separate schools, though often more. Most of these schools are referred to as "Academies," where they learn math, science, etc. After Academy, they head to the hagwons, or English language schools, which is where I work. After the hagwon, they might head to yet another sort of extracurricular Academy, to learn piano or violin. 

With this alone, you're looking at a school schedule of about 8am to 6 or 7pm. This is for children under the age of 12, not including the mountains of homework they have to complete once they head home. I've asked many of my students what time they go to bed, and most of them say somewhere between midnight and 2am. Once they hit high school age, many of the students go to school until midnight, then go home and complete their assignments. Oh, and they go to school every other Saturday, too.

Is it just me, or does this seem like an absurd system to anyone else? I was a complete little nerd at that age, but even I didn't study that much. I'm no expert on this stuff, but I don't think kids should be getting burned out by the age of 10. There's got to be a bit of leg room somewhere, or else Korea is just going to turn out a whole bunch of violin playing, long division completing, English speaking robots. 

Okay, I'll get off my high horse now. Many of my students have managed to develop fantastic personalities despite this stifling system. So maybe it's just my own outsider's judgement of the other. I still have a moral struggle every day at the end of class when I am supposed to assign the homework, though. 

I'm going to go kick a bee now, and think severe.  

Cameras, Theme Parks, and Cartoons, Oh My!

I have heard a few complaints about the lack of photographs in this blog thus far. I feel your pain, reader, I do. Not enough to make a concerted effort to post any this time around, but I promise that I will definitely think about putting up some pictures the next time I write. 

Honestly, though, I'm a bit insulted. Is my writing not vivid enough for you? Do my words not paint a sharp enough picture of SoKo in your mind? Here's the deal: if a picture really is worth a thousand words (hey, Anon said it, not me), then the reverse must be true as well. Surely I have logged a couple thousand words at this point; it should be a few photos' worth. I don't have cameras in my eyes, people (would that I did...), and I frequently forget my camera on photo-op-perfect outings. So I'm sorry. 

The last week and a half have been been rather event-filled, so I'll try to fill you in on the highlights.

1. Lotte World

or South Korea's answer to Disneyland

Last Monday, Angela and I were told to arrive at school at 9:30am rather than our usual clock-in hour of 11:30am (those readers with real jobs may now take a 30 second reading break to shake their bitter fists in my general direction). In a gesture not unlike those of secret societies, we were told that we were taking the kindergarten on a field trip, but not how we were getting there, where we were going, or when we would return. Their last field trip, which I did not attend, had been a picnic in a park, so naturally I assumed something along the same lines was in order. 

I have got to stop assuming things. 

Turns out, we were headed to a magical land cryptically named "Lotte World." Now, Lotte World is not just your average amusement park. First of all, it is located in the middle of Seoul, a colossal city that really doesn't have any business sticking an amusement park right in its craw. How do you solve this problem? Build the amusement park inside of a mall. That's right. Lotte World is actually a part of a much bigger money vacuum, which should be (but is not) christened "Lotte Universe." Lotte World is located inside of an enormous building which also contains "Lotte Department Store," "Lotte Mart," a Lotte casino, and a Lotte hotel.  Why would you ever leave to breathe the sweet, fresh air of the outside world when you have all of this in one convenient place? 

I will admit that while Lotte World lacks the immensity of Disneyland as well as those time-honored cartoon characters from my childhood, it holds a certain charm all its own. It probably didn't hurt that I was wandering its fried food-scented paths with 40 starry eyed three to six-year-olds in tow, but I was just a little bit enchanted by the faux hot air balloons gliding on tracks across the ceiling, mechanical monkeys swinging from palm trees, and rides promising "good happy times." We rode through "The Adventures of Sindbad" and explored the Korean Folk Village. The kids had a blast, and I had to acknowledge that I had a pretty good time, too. 

That's the thing about amusement parks--at a distance it's easy to dismiss them as the artificial entertainment that they are, but once inside they can really suck you in. Damn you corporate bigwigs for forcing your fun upon me!

2. No Country for Old Sarcasm

One of the highlights of my teaching week involved a cartoon, a phrase that could possess two meanings, and four highly perplexed Korean students. 

While teaching a lesson to one of my favorite classes, we came to a crossroads. I know I probably shouldn't have favorites (doesn't that rule only apply when they're your own children? Well, I'm still a fake teacher at this point, anyway), but this class is hyperintelligent, speaks English well, and has a wicked sense of humor. However, humor comes in many shapes and sizes, which became especially apparent during this lesson. 

The cartoon we were reading was meant to demonstrate how to use the word "should," and involved a date between a well-meaning woman and a man full of regrets ("We should have made a reservation," "We should have picked a different movie"). At one point, it begins to drizzle, and the man says, "Oh great, now it's raining!" 

-Teacher, why "Oh great"?

-Well, he's being sarcastic. 

-Teacher, what is sarcastic?

Oh boy. How to explain, how to explain...

-Okay. Sarcasm is basically when you say one thing, but you mean the exact opposite. So when he says "Oh great, now it's raining," he actually means "Oh no! It's raining!" 

-Teacher, why?

-Well, it's funny. It's like a joke. 

-Teacher, not funny.

-It would be like if you said, "Oh, Teacher, I am sooo happy you gave us so much homework." Do you understand?

-Yes. But not funny, Teacher. Not funny.

I realized then and there that, while these students might now understand the definition of sarcasm, they may never understand the humor in it. Which is fine. Sarcasm may be a dominant feature of the humor of the Western world, but I can't say I've encountered any in South Korea. I lose a good percentage of my own comedic value over here, but luckily they think other things about me are funny. Like the way I speak. 

On a side note, I would like to add that this same class asked me today what my blood type was like it was no big deal. This may have made sense if we had been discussing medical terms in English, but we were, in fact, discussing crop circles. Truly. 

After the initial surprise wore off, I realized to my own shock and amusement that I have no idea what my blood type is. I turned the question back on them, and each of them rattled off their blood type like it was his or her last name. 

I have a lot to learn about South Korea. 

 

White Like Me

Any time you move to a new country, you have to expect to stand out a bit. Even if you can manage to physically blend in with the rest of the populace, you will inevitably give yourself away as a foreigner by your accent, your ignorance of local customs and manners, your means of interacting with people, or all of the above.

Moving to South Korea, I presumed I would be a bit of an oddity. There's no disguising the fact that I am distinctly not from around here. Still, I'm used to the U.S., where even in relatively small towns, there is usually some amount of diversity. 

Not so in Bucheon. Here, I am not just a minority, I am THE minority. Everyone who lives here is Korean. Strolling the sidewalks of my neighborhood, I am a white giant. And everybody notices. 

The stares had an interesting novelty to them in my first week or so. There's no tiptoeing around the issue here--glancing at someone from behind a newspaper, pretending to look at a spot just beyond the person--just blatant, unabashed gawking. 

Children lock their eyes on you and walk backwards until you are out of sight. They grab their mother's hand and point, saying "Mikuk, Mikuk!" 

Adults are worse. I have caused near car accidents, pedestrians come close to being roadkill, people bump into each other because they seem to forget their powers of peripheral vision when I am view. 

It is an uncanny feeling, to say the least. 

I am an alien here, in all senses of the word, an interterrestrial not to be missed once spotted. I know there are other English teachers living and working in Bucheon, though I never see them either, so considering the homogeneity of the area, it all makes sense. Realizing this does little to lessen the feeling of being a sideshow attraction, though. The stares are rarely sinister, merely curious. Those who speak even a word of English get quite excited at the prospect of practicing. 

-Hello!

-Hi.

-Where are you from?

-Oh, the U.S.

- . . .?

-America.

-Ha, ha, America! America, very good. America.

End transmission. I have this conversation at least four times a day. 

It's a different story in Seoul, which is about as international as a city can get. In certain areas, there are more foreigners flitting about than Koreans. People don't look twice at me in Seoul, which is a nice break from feeling like the Paris Hilton of Bucheon. I've been to bars whose patrons are all ex-pats of one sort or another, which is equally strange. They all seem to glom together for comfort. Sometimes there are almost too many Americans around in Seoul. There's a U.S. army base right near a very touristy area called Itaewon, and I can't seem to walk two feet without running into an American soldier there. It is nice to find people from home here, even if none of them are from my actual home. I get quite a lot of "ORegon! I hardly know where Oregon IS!" And this is from Americans. 

It's always been my theory that people have the capacity to get used to pretty much anything if they're given enough time. I'm not accustomed to the ogling yet, but I'm sure the time will come when it all seems routine. Until then, eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, and picture the gawkers in their underwear. 

Seoul Food

First things first: as many of you know, I am a coffee addict. Though coffee is not "technically" a food, I would rate it pretty darn high on the list of things necessary to keep me nourished. 

That said, it is nearly impossible to find a decent cup of coffee here in SoKo. 

'Devastating' is just one word that came to mind when I realized this. 

The Koreans claim they drink coffee. There's even an alleged "coffee" machine at the school. But, to steal from the ever-brilliant Douglas Adams, this liquid is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike coffee. It gushes out of this machine into miniature, espresso-sized paper cups, but it is not espresso. Oh no. It tastes like liquid sugar with coffee flavoring. Horrified, I tried to water it down a bit, at which point I was told by a Korean teacher that I was diluting it too much. 

Yes. That was the point. 

Despite its non-resemblance to the coffee that I know and love, I still drink about 4 dixie cups of the stuff a day. An addiction is an addiction. 

There are many Starbucks here, and even Dunkin' Donuts, so if I really need to get a fix I can go there, but it makes me sad. Plus, they charge 3,000 won for a black coffee (that's about $2.50)! I miss little independent coffee shops or cafes on every block.  

I thought I had outsmarted the system when I found boxes of instant coffee at my friendly neighborhood Kosa Mart. Better than nothing. Some of the boxes were labeled "mocha." I assumed that this was the sugary substance I'd been drinking, and so delightedly picked up the box simply labeled "coffee." There was a smiling Korean woman on the box drinking what appeared to be delicious black coffee! She looked so happy! Where could I go wrong?

No. Nonono. It was but exactly the same liquid that comes out of the school's version of the Nutrimatic dispenser. I don't even want to know what the mochas here taste like. 

Luckily, the food here is so delightful that it almost makes up for Korea's lies about possessing real coffee. One of the greatest things about the school where I work is that we are served lunch and dinner Monday through Friday. The meals are infinitely better than any of the sludge I was ever served in school. There's a communal philosophy to eating here. No one gets their own meal. All the teachers sit around a table and a variety of plates and bowls are brought out and everyone just goes at it with their chopsticks. 

Which are metal, by the way. I'm not really sure why, as most other Asian countries use wooden chopsticks, which I am much more accustomed to using. To my great embarrassment and shame, one of the other teachers pointed out that I was holding my chopsticks much too far down as I tried to pick up a particularly tricksy piece of kimchi. The metal chopsticks are more slippery, but I am learning. 

Most of the time I don't really know what I'm eating, but I usually enjoy it. Rice is served with pretty much every meal, as is kimchi, though it is still unclear to me why one would want to eat kimchi three times a day. For those of you unfamiliar with kimchi (I was), it is basically fermented cabbage or radish that can have all sorts of seasonings. There are over 400 kinds. They also serve about ten side dishes with every meal. 

As flavorful as the food is, it's all very healthy, and it fills you up without making you feel like a giant ball of grease. I especially like this stuff that is sort of like gnocchi with a spicy sauce on it. Mmmm. Gnochhi-like substance. 

The British teacher and his girlfriend, one of the Korean teachers, took Angela and me out to a Korean Barbeque in Seoul the other day, and it was some of the best cuisine I have ever tasted (I came THIS close to naming this blog "Korean BBQ: The Man, the Myth, the Legend"). Apparently, there are a lot of these in the U.S., but I'd never been to one. You cook your meat--beef, pork, chicken--on a little stove with coals right in front of you, place it on a bed of lettuce and a sesame seed leaf, add a bit of garlic, onions, and chili sauce, wrap it up and badabing, badaboom, pop the whole thing right into your unsuspecting mouth. Then your taste buds dance with joy.

Last night, we had a going away party for the British teacher and his girlfriend at a seafood restaurant. Sad for me, because I really like them, happy for them, because they are off to travel Europe for two months. Enormous, steaming plates of seafood including octopus, crab, squid, and these little things that pop in your mouth when you bite them. Everyone keeps insisting that I try this kind of live octopus (or is it squid?) that suctions itself to your tongue as it goes down. 

Pass. 

Fortunately, they didn't serve that dish at this restaurant. A good time was had by all. Especially by my wallet. The director of the school insists on paying for everything when we go out, so he was footing the food and drink bill for at least 15 people. Insane.

Speaking of drinks that are not coffee, Koreans have several interesting kinds of alcohol that I've never heard of before. Rice wine, which looks like milk, but tastes a bit like sprite, raspberry wine, plum wine...all very delicious.

They also have their own kind of liquor, called soju. Not quite as strong as the standards, but still taken in shots, and still, to use the colloquial term, fucks you up. Too many shots of soju means lots of water and painkillers in the morning. Watch out for the soju.

In summation:

Korean coffee bad.

Korean food good. 

Korean alcohol...makes you bump into things and have mysterious bruises the next day.

Till next time.  

Mikuk Salam

So, the funny thing about being hired straight out of college as a teacher is that I, in fact, have no idea how to teach. One might think that, having spent the entirety of my life thus far in school, I would have picked up some tips from the many, many teachers I have had the chance to observe. One would be wrong.

It is comical how little training I have received. Actually, the training I have received is approximately equal to ZERO. I was told I would have, at the very least, three days of training. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. My first day at the school was spent observing the other teachers, especially the native English speakers (most of the teachers are Korean). When I arrived on the second day, my first conversation with someone went something like this:

-Could you take this class at three?

-Sure. Wait, what? 

-Here's the book, teach them these pages, and at the end write the homework on the board.

-Um, okay...Wait, where is the classroom? What level are these students? Do they have this book? How long is the class period? How am I supposed to know what homework to assign? What am I dooiiinnng?!?!?!??

Suffice it to say, the school is much more casual than I thought it would be. Casual to a fault, really. I suppose I expected a lot of rigor and discipline since I've heard so much about how seriously Koreans take education. At the same time, this is a private language school, not the regular school that children attend, so it seems to follow its own set of rules. Or is devoid of them. One or the other. 

Every day I'm handed a new book and told to teach a new class. I don't know where the syllabus comes from, don't know if there even IS a syllabus, or if the other teachers just magically know which pages of the book they are teaching next. It is all very mysterious. I'm slowly picking up on things, but only because I will suddenly realize at the last second that I am missing some very important piece of information, at which point I will grab the nearest teacher, who may or may not be able to explain it to me. 

It's frustrating, but at least the disorganization of everything means pretty low expectations of me. Everyone seems pleased as peaches as long as I go into a classroom at one point and come out again 50 minutes later. It's just assumed that I have taught the students something. 

The director of the school tells me over and over again that I am here because I have a very special skill, and that I will be able to lead the other teachers. This would be flattering if my "very special skill" was something OTHER than my native language. It feels strange to be hired on the basis of knowing something that you didn't even have to try to learn.  

Despite the strange mechanics by which the school is run, I am actually enjoying my job quite a bit. The students are especially great, for the most part. They are divided according to level more than age, though they try to match up the ages as best they can. I had to figure out the hard way that just because some of my classes are older doesn't necessarily mean they speak better English than some of the younger classes. 

In the mornings I teach three classes of kindergarten, and they are all SO cute, and very smart. Some of them are as young as three, though it's sort of hard to tell, because in Korea you are considered one year old when you are born. Confusing. They will all run up and jump on me while shouting "Erin teacha! Erin teacha!" (their previous teacher has usually been British, so they all sort of speak English with a British accent). They also have a LOT of trouble saying my name, which is hilarious, because I'll get a lot of, "Eleeen?" They pick up the language so quickly, though. There is one adorable little boy who cries every time Angela and I come into the room because we are foreign, though I think he's starting to warm up to us. 

The afternoon classes vary a lot in age and level. The oldest kids I teach are probably about 12, and some of them speak very, very well already. A few of my classes are a bit older, but hardly speak ANY English because they got started with the language later than some. The first time I was up in front of one of those classes I was terrified, because they stared at me blankly and wouldn't respond to any of my questions, which I later learned was because I was speaking too quickly for any of them to understand. You never realize how quickly you speak until you're trying to communicate with a non-native speaker. Even the Korean teachers who teach English don't understand me half of the time. I am learning to speak slower and simplify my language, but I have to constantly think about it. I worry that I sound condescending when I speak so slowly. 

Do...you...like...to...play...sports? Me...too! Hooray...for...sports! 

As my dear friend Sarah McCarthy pointed out, I am surprised every time I stand in front of a classroom of students and they actually expect me to SAY something to them. They expect me to teach them something! I can only hope that I actually am. 

There's a lot of "Lost in Translation"-like things going on. Too bad Bill Murray isn't here for me to have a pseudo-romance with. 

The students who don't know as much English will sometimes point at me and say, "Mikuk salam?"

Yes, I am an American. I wish I knew more Korean so we could actually communicate. Until then, I'll just stand up here and speak at you in English, hoping you understand. 

This Week in Korea:

Two posts in one day, you ask? Does she have nothing to do there? 

Well, today I don't. Yesterday was Chuseok, which is essentially the Korean version of Thanksgiving, so we have a three day weekend. Plus, I am recovering from a night out in Seoul. But more on that later. 

The title of this post is intended to be a reference to The Daily Show's "This Week in God," which they had back when Stephen Colbert was still a correspondent. Colbert would hit a big button and the green screen would beepboopbop until it dinged! on some religious topic. It was great. I guess the title isn't as funny when you insert the word Korea...

Anyway, beepboopbopbeep...Arrival!

After a flight that could easily be classified as torture, I arrived at Incheon International Airport on Sept. 9th at 5:40pm, exhausted and frazzled. Luckily, the director of the school I'll be teaching at and the girl who started at the same time as me were there to pick me up. Otherwise I think I would have found a nice garbage can to pass out next to. 

We drove to Bucheon, where I am living, which is like a suburb of both Seoul and Incheon, but nothing like the car dealer-infested, chain restaurant filled, soul-sucking suburbs in the U.S. It just feels like the non-downtown area of a big city. 

Our apartments are quite nice, actually, and when I say "our" it is because the other girl, we'll call her...Angela, and I live right next door to each other. It's like having a roommate, but only when you want one. Perfect situation really. 

Ignorant as I am about Korean apartment living, I could not figure out how to use the shower, the stove, or the air conditioning for the first three days. The shower isn't in an enclosed space, there's just a nozzle attached to the wall above the sink and a drain in the floor, which is apparently pretty standard in a lot of countries, but I'd never seen one before. Makes sense for saving space, but then the bathroom floor is wet for about an hour and I track water all over my fake wood floors. Whee! 

Also, I didn't know that there's a special button in the wall that you have to push in order to get hot water, so I took several freezing cold showers before the director of the school, we'll call him...Mr. Boss?, came over and showed me how to turn it on. Very confusing. 

The worst part about my apartment? I THINK I MIGHT HAVE BED BUGS. Which. Is. Terrifying. I don't really know, because I've never encountered them before, but i have all these little itchy red bites all over my body. At first I just assumed I was getting bitten walking around and such, but Angela says she hasn't gotten a single bite. Does anyone know anything about these awful creatures? I wikipedia-d bed bugs, and if I have things like that living in my mattress I am going to sleep on my balcony. Forever. 

Other than potential evil demons living in my sleeping space, things are good here so far. Very sleepy suddenly, so such topics as Food! Teaching! and People! will have to wait till next time. Senior Korean Correspondent, signing off. 

A Peek into My Seoul

The puns won't stop there.

Welcome.

As I recently discussed with another blogging neophyte, I have resisted the blog for quite some time now. I usually find personal blogs self-absorbed and inane. That said, this blog will certainly be self-absorbed and sometimes inane. But I like to think of it as performing a service for friends and voyeurs alike! So here we go.