Last night, our hagwon held its annual (I think) Christmas dinner party at a samgyeopsal (galbi, I think) restaurant. It was definitely a really nice place; there was plenty of food, and in good form, the school provided unlimited Chilsung cider, Coca-Cola, maekju, and soju. The departing teachers (one of our Korean English teachers, one of the secretaries, and two bus drivers are leaving) got to give goodbye speeches, and the newbies (three Korean English teachers, one new secretary, a new math teacher, and our school president's younger brother, who is apparently coming on as a bus driver and general administrator) gave "introduction" speeches. Then the president, director, and head teacher gave speeches, as well as anyone else who was so inclined (this did not include me). The drinks flowed, assigned seating was (at least partially) ignored, and fun times were had by...most. It would have been a lot nicer if they hadn't been using the same tongs to handle the raw meat and put the cooked meat on my plate. Or putting the raw and the cooked meat so close together on the table grills that they were touching. Needless to say, I didn't each much of the meat - but there was plenty of (safer) food to be had, so I definitely got my fill. Plus, I don't think any of my coworkers got sick, so I guess it turned out all right in the end.
The foreign head teacher gave a short speech and ended with the exhortation for the Korean English teachers and the foreign teachers to be closer in the coming year. As if on cue, at the end of the night our company president handed my boss an envelope of cash for all of us to go to noraebang (a.k.a. karaoke) together after dinner. At which point five of the Korean teachers produced some excuse to not stick around and promptly split. All nine foreign teachers, the three new Korean teachers, our boss, and two other Korean teachers wound up going to a huge noraebang room and ordering a bunch of alcohol. Husband promptly split (he hates noraebang), and I followed about 45 minutes later. (I waited until my boss, who has a sick two-year-old at home, left.) I think the rest of the group dispersed about an hour after that.
While I understand that the thought is very generous, I am not sure why it doesn't occur to our company president that we might already have plans for a Saturday night, especially the one before Christmas. Then again, I know I should be grateful - most of the other hagwon teachers in town are amazed that we get a Christmas dinner at all.
Still, I wish it came with awareness of food safety and hygiene.
Our school administration works very hard to try to make sure that all of the teachers (foreign and Korean) mingle and mesh well. Some things work better than others, and some people mesh better than others, but we as foreign teachers are often not quite sure what to make of it. Korea (very similar to Japan) has a huge gift-giving culture, so pretty much any holiday is an excuse to give gifts to family, friends, coworkers, and crushes. There are some really interesting "holidays" to illustrate this point. For example, we all know Valentine's Day as a Hallmark holiday back home to give flowers, chocolates, and other goodies.
In Japan and Korea, Valentine's Day is a holiday for women to give men chocolates, but they created a companion holiday on March 14 - "White Day" - for men to return the favor and buy chocolates for women. Korea, however, took it a step further and invented "Black Day" for single people to eat noodles with jjajang (Chinese black sauce).
And then there's Pepero Day, which is celebrated on November 11 by giving everyone you know boxes of Pepero sticks. Pepero (a copy of the Japanese "Pocky" sticks) are long, thin crackers (hence why they are given on the date 11/11) that are dipped in chocolate and sold in boxes of about 20 or so. They are deceptively innocuous - their small size and thin layer of chocolate eliminates any guilt you may feel about eating sweets, until you realize that you've consumed four boxes in one sitting (true story!). The only purpose whatsoever that this "holiday" serves is to give people way more cookies than anyone should ever eat, and to increase sales for Lotte, the Korean mega-corporation that makes them (and probably invented the holiday in the first place).
Teacher, what?
One thing that our school does (and I'm pretty sure we're the only school in the city that does this) is collect money for major life events of staff members. Every time someone gets married or has a death in the family, money is collected from everyone at the school (teachers, secretaries, and bus drivers alike) and presented to that person. They request W30,000 (about $30) from each Korean staff member, and W15,000 from each foreign teacher. I guess they charge us half because we are strangers in a strange land, but they still want to include us in the collection to make us all more cohesive. However, this year we had (I think) four weddings and one funeral, which totaled to about $150 between US. The flip side of this is that we are always welcome to attend and eat at the buffet in the wedding hall for free (and all of us almost always do), but it can still get irritating at times, because we usually would rather be excluded and just hold onto the cash. Not only that, but the Koreans usually find it strange that we would want to attend, and they don't understand that we see it as getting our money's worth.
Another thing that we do, that seems like a good idea on principle, is have a birthday collection. Every other month, we each contribute W10,000 to the birthday fund, which is used to buy a cake once a month and give W20,000 as birthday money for everyone enjoying a birthday that month. Unfortunately, this isn't always put into practice flawlessly. For example, one of my coworkers didn't even get any of her birthday cake, because the cake was brought in right before she had to go to class, and everyone else ate the whole thing before she got back. (Because of this, I now make sure to cut her a slice and put it on her desk before the others devour it all.) Husband got a birthday cake but no birthday money (and June was our first month, so we didn't even know we were supposed to get birthday money until several months later). I brought it up last month to the Korean teacher who is in charge of birthdays, and she assured me that she would give both of us our money on my birthday...and then she forgot to give me my birthday money, too. I had to ask again at the end of the month to get it. On top of that, because the kinder birthday party was held on my birthday, I didn't get a birthday cake - we just ate the kinder cake.
Some of this may seem like splitting hairs, but when we all put in money every month, I feel like it's important that everyone should get what they are (supposedly) entitled to.
And then there was the Chuseok gift. Every year for Chuseok (the Korean Thanksgiving), the school president and director present us all with W100,000 gift certificates to Lotte stores (which includes a series of fast food restaurants, department stores, and grocery stores). In return, it has become tradition for all of the teachers to contribute W25,000 to purchase a really nice gift for them. Again, it seems nice on principle, but most of us just balked at the pointlessness of it - why not just subtract our expected contribution and give us the difference? Better yet, why not scrap it all and call it even?
A lot of this goes back to cultural clash, I think - while those of us from North America take pride in being frugal, Koreans make a show of being generous with gifts and expensive food - anything less, and you are seen as cheap, which is a huge no-no here. Whenever our school provides food for dinners or luncheons for special occasions, we are constantly reminded of how expensive the food is, which feels really weird to us. Obviously, we understand that it is culturally expected here, but to be confronted very matter-of-factly with something considered extremely rude back home makes it feel very awkward, and hollow.
To be fair, though, we all have our own holiday rituals that we perform without even thinking every year: Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas dinners, obligatory Christmas gifts for extended cousins and coworkers, and the annual Christmas letter that hsa to be worded just right and goes out to everyone in your ever-growing address book. The holidays have become a time when we make sure that everyone who gave us a gift gets one in return and that everyone gets a politically-correct "Happy Holidays" card (since "Merry Christmas" is now considered passe and, by some, bigoted).
Oh, the joys. Personally, I am just grateful to be celebrating the season with a group of coworkers that has become my family away from home.
In other news, our contract extension addendum is sitting on our coffee table as I type this. We are scheduled to meet with our school director before class tomorrow to sign it, which will extend our contract to January 29, 2014. In the meantime, we will be making tentative plans for our post-teaching travels. Suggestions are welcome and encouraged.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Saint Nick/São Nicolau
Some days, teaching children makes me feel like this.
The caption of this photo from Facebook reads:
After becoming Bishop of Bari, St. Nicholas was imprisoned and tortured during the persecution of Emperor Diocletian (303-313). After his release, the aged bishop participated in the Council of Nicea (325), where he is said to have walked across the room to slap the face of Arius, the arch-heretic who denied Jesus' divinity. By all accounts, St. Nicholas held firmly to the orthodox faith, while showing gentleness to his flock, whose souls he perceived as threatened by the poison of Arius' false teaching. In sum, St. Nicholas showed himself to be what my latinist friend calls "episcopus cum testiculi" (for which a colorful alliterative translation suggests itself).
That's a "bishop with balls" for those of you who are less Latin-inclined.
Happy Feast Day of Saint Nicholas!
Monday, December 3, 2012
Birthday Love/Amor no meu aniversário
So my 27th birthday has come and gone. My birthday has never been something I have particularly looked forward to; aside from a few small parties thrown by my family (and once by my college roommates my sophomore year), most of the time people just forget it entirely. My birthday always falls right around Thanksgiving (and every few years, like this one, actually lands on Turkey Day), so all throughout high school my friends would either overlook the day or not be able to do anything because of the school vacation. By the time I got to college, I just quit telling people, because they would inevitably be back home with their families, and celebrating it a week late just seemed pointless. I expected it to be no different this year, so I prepared to enter my late twenties in a slightly depressed emotional state with little to no fanfare, continuing the relentlessly dull march toward thirty, old age, and my eventual grave. (And yes, I am a naturally cheerful person.)
Luckily for me, I was quite mistaken.
The day started off with a "surprise" party in my Korean class (I say surprise because my Korean teacher told my classmates that they would throw me a "surprise party" when I told him about my birthday the Tuesday before). It was very sweet: he bought an entire cake from Paris Baguette (a chain bakery prevalent in Asia), and one of the other students brought his guitar for them to sing to me.
My coworkers are very perceptive people; frankly, even if they weren't, spending seven hours a day in the same building with zero privacy outside of the bathroom makes moods incredibly contagious. They picked up pretty early on that I was feeling melancholy about my upcoming coming-of-age day, so I guess they schemed among themselves about how to cheer my countenance. When I arrived at work on Thursday, this was waiting for me on my desk:
Some close-ups:
My mother-in-law sent these two cards, which (miraculously) arrived precisely on time on Thursday.
To top it all off, the Kinder monthly birthday party was that day, too, so I actually got to eat the Kinder cake on my birthday. Woo!
The festivities didn't end with my coworkers, either. My first class of the day, English World 4 (English World is the first series of books when the kids start the program; these are our youngest kids, around age 7) threw me a little party. When I got to the top of the stairs on the way to class, the girls in the class greeted me and asked me to close my eyes, which I did. They took my basket and my CD player and led me by the hand to the classroom. I was then told to sit down while they arranged my gifts on the table in front of me.
"Open!"
"No, no, no!" (I kept my eyes closed.)
"One, two, three-"
"No, no, no!" (I waited.)
After some more chattering in Korean, they finally agreed to let me open my eyes. I opened them to a collection of candies, notes, and a little gift bag. Here are my spoils from the little ones:
That night, several of my coworkers took me out to dinner (Japanese food!) and then we headed downtown for a few drinks afterward. We met up with one of Joel's friends from another hagwon and spent a few hours just chatting while Joel and some of the others played darts. It was lovely.
And the birthday festivities didn't stop on my birthday, either! The next day, several of my MWF classes brought snacks to celebrate. The most interesting gift by far, however, wasn't even a birthday gift. In my Carnival 5 class, one chapter went over major family events (e.g. family reunion, wedding, funeral, birthday, baby shower), and one of the vocabulary words was "wedding anniversary," so I explained it with the most readily available example - mine. One of the girls apparently was so impressed by this that she actually bought Joel and I an anniversary gift - well before our anniversary.
Friday night ended on a good note when my last middle school class of the night put this together for me:
I now have all of the notes under the glass cover on my desk so that I can be continually reminded of all of the love I got on my birthday.
Honestly, it was probably the best birthday abroad I could have asked for. You guys sure do know how to make a girl feel special.
I thought I would take some time to write and reminisce about my awesome birthday to help make me feel better. Frankly, it has been a less-than-stellar past few days. We are at a point where we have to decide whether or not we are going to extend our contract, and for how long, so we are thinking pretty hard and actively making contingency plans. There is a lot that is up in the air, so any prayers - or just positive energy - that you could send our way would be great. Meanwhile, Joel will continue to relieve stress by killing aliens on Halo, while I continue to do so by cleaning, putting puzzles together...and writing.
Until next time.
Luckily for me, I was quite mistaken.
The day started off with a "surprise" party in my Korean class (I say surprise because my Korean teacher told my classmates that they would throw me a "surprise party" when I told him about my birthday the Tuesday before). It was very sweet: he bought an entire cake from Paris Baguette (a chain bakery prevalent in Asia), and one of the other students brought his guitar for them to sing to me.
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| 고마워요,선생님! |
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| Yes, that is my fabulously organized desk behind all of my goodies. |
 |
| From the Canadian-Minnesotan couple. |
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| From the Texas roommates. |
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| From the Canadian. |
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| From the Texas Tech alum. |
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| From the foreign head teacher. |
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| From the SFASA Alum. |
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| Impeccable timing, Joel's mom! |
The festivities didn't end with my coworkers, either. My first class of the day, English World 4 (English World is the first series of books when the kids start the program; these are our youngest kids, around age 7) threw me a little party. When I got to the top of the stairs on the way to class, the girls in the class greeted me and asked me to close my eyes, which I did. They took my basket and my CD player and led me by the hand to the classroom. I was then told to sit down while they arranged my gifts on the table in front of me.
"Open!"
"No, no, no!" (I kept my eyes closed.)
"One, two, three-"
"No, no, no!" (I waited.)
After some more chattering in Korean, they finally agreed to let me open my eyes. I opened them to a collection of candies, notes, and a little gift bag. Here are my spoils from the little ones:
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| Leah's and Noah's notes. Noah has a minor obsession with Angry Birds. |
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| Bonny's note. She probably got help from her dad. |
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| The green bear and the pen were both from Noah. |
And the birthday festivities didn't stop on my birthday, either! The next day, several of my MWF classes brought snacks to celebrate. The most interesting gift by far, however, wasn't even a birthday gift. In my Carnival 5 class, one chapter went over major family events (e.g. family reunion, wedding, funeral, birthday, baby shower), and one of the vocabulary words was "wedding anniversary," so I explained it with the most readily available example - mine. One of the girls apparently was so impressed by this that she actually bought Joel and I an anniversary gift - well before our anniversary.
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| Those are real flowers in the box, too. |
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| A close-up of the snow globe. |
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| The whole shebang. |
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| A tower of Choco Pies and lollipops. The cake on the right is from Paris Baguette. |
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| The note. |
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| The white board, decorated with my partner-teacher's markers. |
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| They put glass plates over all of the tables and desks here. It's a little weird, but it also provides great decorating opportunities. |
I thought I would take some time to write and reminisce about my awesome birthday to help make me feel better. Frankly, it has been a less-than-stellar past few days. We are at a point where we have to decide whether or not we are going to extend our contract, and for how long, so we are thinking pretty hard and actively making contingency plans. There is a lot that is up in the air, so any prayers - or just positive energy - that you could send our way would be great. Meanwhile, Joel will continue to relieve stress by killing aliens on Halo, while I continue to do so by cleaning, putting puzzles together...and writing.
Until next time.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
A Series of Unfortunate Events, Upcoming: My 27th Birthday/Uma série de eventos infelizes, futuro: Meu vigésimo sétimo aniversário
We were all devastated to learn that Bbyeodae Haejangguk (which, literally translated, means "hangover soup") recently closed its doors, seemingly for good. This is an unparalleled tragedy for the foreign teachers at our school. The restaurant was open 24 hours a day and served steaming-hot pork spine soup and spicy ribs with a delicious array of side dishes (and some of my favorite kimchi). My coworker tried to take his friend who was visiting to eat there and saw them carrying tables out of the restaurant. None of us are quite sure how to handle the news, or more importantly, where we will go to eat after partying all night downtown.
In other less fortunate news, my 27th birthday is tomorrow. While birthdays are normally a cause for celebration (or at least a party with friends to drown your sorrows), for whatever reason this birthday is particularly acute for me. I will be entering my late 20s (with 30 right around the corner) with no children, no concrete family or career plans, and a crappy economy (which means no jobs). Meanwhile, we just found out that my freshman-year roommate is pregnant with her second child (congratulations, guys!) and one of our groomsmen is expecting his first with his wife. He has been married for 11 months and will have a baby next summer; we, on the other hand, will have been married for four years this December, and the only children in our lives are the ones we teach (mostly just yell at, really) at school every day. Yay.
It is strange to feel pressured, especially since neither Joel nor I really want a baby right this instant (or anytime soon, really). Maybe seeing all of our peers from college having kids (many of them having second kids) just puts a weird kind of pressure on me - a nagging reminder that I am getting older and being left behind, or something. It doesn't help that no matter how many times I tell my students that I am married with no children, they always react with shock and dismay to the fact that Teacher Is No Baby.
"Teacher, you married?!"
"Yes."
"You have baby?"
"No."
"Oh whyyyyyyyyyyyy?!!"
"Joel Teacher your husband?"
"Yes."
"Teacher married?"
"Yes."
"Baby?"
"No."
"Why no baby?!"
"Teacher baby?"
"No."
"Teacher baby inside?"
"No."
"Teacher whyyyyyyy?!"
Perhaps the best conversation was one I had with one of my older elementary school students. We are getting into more advanced content, and they are learning vocabulary for big family and life events (e.g. wedding, funeral, baby shower, family reunion, etc.). I was explaining the concept of a wedding anniversary and using myself as an example, and I told the class that Joel and I would be celebrating our four-year anniversary in December. As usual, my students (whom I have told three times now that I am married) were shocked. One of the more talkative girls, whose English name is Wendy, began indignantly asking questions.
Wendy: Teacher, you married?
me: Yes, Wendy. I have told you this before.
Wendy: You have baby?
me: No.
Wendy: Teacher! Why you married four years and no baby?
me: Because babies are expensive. And we have been traveling a lot since we got married. Traveling is difficult with a baby.
Wendy: Ah, yes.
me: Why do you guys always ask me that? Why do people always have to have babies when they get married?
Wendy: But Korean always have baby. Almost all Korean get married, and baby very fast.
She made a face, and then pondered for a second.
Wendy: But I think it is good, you no baby. Korean have baby very fast. You married four years and no baby is...good.
She gave me a thumbs up.
Wisdom from the mouths of babes. I think I will take this as moral support. Happy birthday to me.
In other less fortunate news, my 27th birthday is tomorrow. While birthdays are normally a cause for celebration (or at least a party with friends to drown your sorrows), for whatever reason this birthday is particularly acute for me. I will be entering my late 20s (with 30 right around the corner) with no children, no concrete family or career plans, and a crappy economy (which means no jobs). Meanwhile, we just found out that my freshman-year roommate is pregnant with her second child (congratulations, guys!) and one of our groomsmen is expecting his first with his wife. He has been married for 11 months and will have a baby next summer; we, on the other hand, will have been married for four years this December, and the only children in our lives are the ones we teach (mostly just yell at, really) at school every day. Yay.
It is strange to feel pressured, especially since neither Joel nor I really want a baby right this instant (or anytime soon, really). Maybe seeing all of our peers from college having kids (many of them having second kids) just puts a weird kind of pressure on me - a nagging reminder that I am getting older and being left behind, or something. It doesn't help that no matter how many times I tell my students that I am married with no children, they always react with shock and dismay to the fact that Teacher Is No Baby.
"Teacher, you married?!"
"Yes."
"You have baby?"
"No."
"Oh whyyyyyyyyyyyy?!!"
"Joel Teacher your husband?"
"Yes."
"Teacher married?"
"Yes."
"Baby?"
"No."
"Why no baby?!"
"Teacher baby?"
"No."
"Teacher baby inside?"
"No."
"Teacher whyyyyyyy?!"
Perhaps the best conversation was one I had with one of my older elementary school students. We are getting into more advanced content, and they are learning vocabulary for big family and life events (e.g. wedding, funeral, baby shower, family reunion, etc.). I was explaining the concept of a wedding anniversary and using myself as an example, and I told the class that Joel and I would be celebrating our four-year anniversary in December. As usual, my students (whom I have told three times now that I am married) were shocked. One of the more talkative girls, whose English name is Wendy, began indignantly asking questions.
Wendy: Teacher, you married?
me: Yes, Wendy. I have told you this before.
Wendy: You have baby?
me: No.
Wendy: Teacher! Why you married four years and no baby?
me: Because babies are expensive. And we have been traveling a lot since we got married. Traveling is difficult with a baby.
Wendy: Ah, yes.
me: Why do you guys always ask me that? Why do people always have to have babies when they get married?
Wendy: But Korean always have baby. Almost all Korean get married, and baby very fast.
She made a face, and then pondered for a second.
Wendy: But I think it is good, you no baby. Korean have baby very fast. You married four years and no baby is...good.
She gave me a thumbs up.
Wisdom from the mouths of babes. I think I will take this as moral support. Happy birthday to me.
A Series of Unfortunate Events, Part 2/Uma série de eventos infelizes, Segunda parte
Last weekend, all nine of us, plus my coworker's friend who was visiting and Joel's friend from college all met up in Seoul on Friday night to stay for the weekend. The kinder program teachers got to head out of town around 7:30 p.m., but the afternoon teachers weren't off until 10, so we didn't hit the road until late. Our bus made good time, but we still did not make it to the bus terminal in Seoul until about 2:30 a.m. From there, we had to catch a taxi to our hostel in Hongdae. Unfortunately, our taxi driver either didn't know the location of the landmark we requested, or he was too lazy to actually drop us off there, so we were left on a random street corner with no sense of direction and the hostel nowhere in sight. We walked into a nearby convenience store and, luckily, ran into a British woman who gave us directions. Otherwise, we would have been screwed.
Since we were all exhausted, we did not get started until close to noon the next day. My coworker (who did a fabulous job organizing the trip and finding accommodations, might I add) was hell-bent on trying the food at an African restaurant that she had seen before, so (for lack of any better ideas) we all headed to a little hole-in-the-wall place in Itaewon called "Mama Africa House" that served a variety of Nigerian dishes (most of them had a side of fufu). It definitely wasn't my favorite - I wouldn't choose to go back there - but it was palatable IMHO and I mostly finished mine. Unfortunately, most of the rest of our group were more than a little disgusted at the food, so a lot of us were hungry and in a foul mood by the time lunch was over. We made a plan to rendezvous at one of the subway stations at 6 and headed out.
After lunch, Joel and I split off from the main group and headed to Kyeongbokgung, the old imperial palace. Joel had some work to do, so he camped out in the museum cafe (with wifi) while I took an hour or so to walk around the palace grounds. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't terribly impressive: the architecture is neat at first, but it gets a little repetitive, and the grounds are almost entirely gravel. However, there was a small grove of maple trees that were really lovely. I would love to go back for a weekend and take some time to tour the museums in the palace complex and see some of the other palaces in the city (there are five total, I think).
After the palace closed, we headed into downtown to check out the Lantern Festival, which was the original reason we all decided to make the trip. While it was kind of a neat concept, it wasn't terribly interesting, and the fact that it was absolutely jam-packed with people killed a lot of the fun that might have been had for us. After we got tired of being stuck on a human conveyer belt, we headed back to the hostel to shower and change, and then we went to a restaurant called VIPS for steak. Joel had been hankering for a steak dinner for a while and took the trip as an opportunity to satisfy the craving. Unfortunately, dinner was where the "group" outing began to unravel; we all were still at dinner when we were supposed to meet up, and only two of us (Joel and his friend in the Army) had cell phones that were able to text each other without the aid of wifi. We were in touch with them periodically, but it never worked out to meet up. After the others finished with the lantern viewing, a few of the guys headed back to the hotel, and the others wandered around for about two hours in search of a hookah bar that they had read about. We tried to meet up with them, but Joel's friend's phone was low on battery and we couldn't figure out where they were.
At that point, we decided to head back to Itaewon to meet up with some different friends from Gwangju who were also in town. We hopped the subway and met them at a bar called the Bulldog. The night started off pretty well, but by the third bar there were more than a few couples making out (which gets boring to watch after a while), and the smoke was making me feel sick, so we called it a night at about 4:30 a.m. We grabbed soem fried chicken, took a taxi back to the hostel, and collapsed into sleep.
After another late start on Sunday, Joel went home early and one of the couples split off, while the rest of us headed to a diner (yet again in Itaewon). After we finished lunch, we decided we were pretty deflated, so four of us ladies headed to the bus terminal and went home. Seoul weekend finishee.
Since we were all exhausted, we did not get started until close to noon the next day. My coworker (who did a fabulous job organizing the trip and finding accommodations, might I add) was hell-bent on trying the food at an African restaurant that she had seen before, so (for lack of any better ideas) we all headed to a little hole-in-the-wall place in Itaewon called "Mama Africa House" that served a variety of Nigerian dishes (most of them had a side of fufu). It definitely wasn't my favorite - I wouldn't choose to go back there - but it was palatable IMHO and I mostly finished mine. Unfortunately, most of the rest of our group were more than a little disgusted at the food, so a lot of us were hungry and in a foul mood by the time lunch was over. We made a plan to rendezvous at one of the subway stations at 6 and headed out.
After lunch, Joel and I split off from the main group and headed to Kyeongbokgung, the old imperial palace. Joel had some work to do, so he camped out in the museum cafe (with wifi) while I took an hour or so to walk around the palace grounds. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't terribly impressive: the architecture is neat at first, but it gets a little repetitive, and the grounds are almost entirely gravel. However, there was a small grove of maple trees that were really lovely. I would love to go back for a weekend and take some time to tour the museums in the palace complex and see some of the other palaces in the city (there are five total, I think).
After the palace closed, we headed into downtown to check out the Lantern Festival, which was the original reason we all decided to make the trip. While it was kind of a neat concept, it wasn't terribly interesting, and the fact that it was absolutely jam-packed with people killed a lot of the fun that might have been had for us. After we got tired of being stuck on a human conveyer belt, we headed back to the hostel to shower and change, and then we went to a restaurant called VIPS for steak. Joel had been hankering for a steak dinner for a while and took the trip as an opportunity to satisfy the craving. Unfortunately, dinner was where the "group" outing began to unravel; we all were still at dinner when we were supposed to meet up, and only two of us (Joel and his friend in the Army) had cell phones that were able to text each other without the aid of wifi. We were in touch with them periodically, but it never worked out to meet up. After the others finished with the lantern viewing, a few of the guys headed back to the hotel, and the others wandered around for about two hours in search of a hookah bar that they had read about. We tried to meet up with them, but Joel's friend's phone was low on battery and we couldn't figure out where they were.
At that point, we decided to head back to Itaewon to meet up with some different friends from Gwangju who were also in town. We hopped the subway and met them at a bar called the Bulldog. The night started off pretty well, but by the third bar there were more than a few couples making out (which gets boring to watch after a while), and the smoke was making me feel sick, so we called it a night at about 4:30 a.m. We grabbed soem fried chicken, took a taxi back to the hostel, and collapsed into sleep.
After another late start on Sunday, Joel went home early and one of the couples split off, while the rest of us headed to a diner (yet again in Itaewon). After we finished lunch, we decided we were pretty deflated, so four of us ladies headed to the bus terminal and went home. Seoul weekend finishee.
Monday, November 19, 2012
A Series of Unfortunate Events, Part 1/Uma série de eventos infelizes, Primeira parte
So the last few weekends have been mildly frustrating, to say the least. It hasn't been anybody's fault, really; some things are out of control and some things are inevitable when you try to arrange travel with large groups of people, like the foreign staff at our hagwon. We got the idea of organizing a few group trips in conjunction with a visit from one of my co-worker's friends, first to Jirisan (a well-known national park which has received rave reviews from one of our Korean friends) and then to Seoul for the Lantern Festival. While the trips themselves were executive successfully (everyone who wanted to go got to go, and no one got sick or was injured), they didn't go quite as smoothly as we'd hoped and have just left me kind of...deflated. Or something.
I guess it really all started when Joel bought a copy of Halo 4 at Kumho World (the local electronics store) two weeks ago. He was super excited about the release and went out to buy a copy one afternoon after our Korean class. He came back from the shop, popped the disc into the Xbox to install it and see what it was all about right before class...and then discovered that all of the cut scenes were dubbed in Korean. They are subtitled in English, and all of the menus are in English, but the actual dialogue is all in Korean with no way to change it. I looked into it, and apparently Microsoft did this for all country-specific releases - and people are universally unhappy with the dubs. Joel can play just fine, but still...part of the fun of Halo is the story, especially Chief's relationship with Cortana, and so much of that is lost with a dub.
That weekend, we were all supposed to go to Jirisan together. I organized the trip and chose a relatively short route (~7 km to ascend 1500 m) that I thought everyone would be able to handle okay to Nogodan shelter. One person in our group opted out from the start, and then Joel's friend from college, who was recently stationed just outside of Seoul with the Army, scheduled his trip to come visit that weekend, so Joel was out as well. The remaining seven of us were all set to go up until the night before the trip - then my co-worker's friend who was flying in didn't actually get to Gwangju until 2 a.m. So my co-worker, his roommate, and his friend decided it would be unwise to attempt a major hike the next day. Fair enough - there were still five of us left.
We caught a bus to Jirisan at 8:20 a.m. on Saturday morning with backpacks full of food, water, blankets (and even a few yoga mats for extra padding). We hit the trail head at ten. The hike up was lovely for about the first half - the trees were all different colors, and the maples in particular were shockingly bright shades of red and orange and were absolutely spectacular. Then, about halfway up the mountain, the climb started to get really steep. Most of the hiking trails in Korea are very manicured and well-maintained, and a very common way from them to keep the trails from eroding is to "pave" them with large jagged rocks. You always know where you are going, but it turns a mountain into one long, steep staircase and can make picking your footing a hazard sometimes. I don't mind it so much, but one of my more vocal co-workers was less than pleased.
"This isn't my favorite hike, I'm not gonna lie."
We kept pushing up. "These rocks are really starting to piss me off!"
The trail wound on as I struggled to keep pace with my more athletic co-hikers. "I fucking hate this mountain!"
Aside from how strenuous the climb was, I was actually enjoying myself, particularly because there were so few other hikers with us (by comparison, Mudeungsan - the mountain just outside of Gwangju - is solidly packed with hikers all weekend). Finally, we exited the forest onto a gravel road, and suddenly I understood why.
The road was crawling with people and cars. We all looked at each other and laughed uncomfortably, realizing all the work we'd done when we probably could have taken a bus or even hitchhiked up the mountain. "That shelter better have a ton of food," one of us joked. We walked up the road and took a last little shortcut through some trees to reach the shelter. As we rounded the final bend and the building came into view, one of the guys started laughing.
"What the...are you fucking kidding me?"
When we read that Nogodan was a hiking "shelter," I think we had all envisioned rather spartan accommodations - i.e. a one-room wooden building with floor space for 108 hikers. What we found was a three-story lodge with beds, a convenience store, and a side-room for people to cook their food. There were hundreds of stylishly-dressed Korean "hikers" milling around with their children and their designer bags. We saw a sign on the other side of the road: "Nogodan Peak - 1.05 km; Parking lot - 2 k.m." The five of us stood with our mouths gaping open for a few minutes, then we sat down and reflected in disbelief.
"This is obscene."
"Not at all what I pictured."
"My friend John is a hard core outdoor enthusiast. He would be so angry right now."
"I can't fucking believe this."
"I really shouldn't be surprised, because this is Korea, but damn. I feel cheated."
I asked the man in the convenience store if we could check in, but he said we couldn't until 5 o'clock. It was 2:30, so we put our stuff down and sat in the cooking area.
"What are we doing to do for two and a half hours?"
"I don't know, but this is ridiculous."
"We could go home," I said, half joking. "The last bus doesn't leave until 6:55."
One of the couples perked up. "That's true...we could."
We looked around at one another. "Do we want to go back?"
"Well, I am pretty much ambivalent," I said. "But if we made it up in five hours, we could make it back down in time if we left now and booked it. What do you guys think?"
After discussing for a bit, we decided to turn around and head back home. We grabbed our things and high-tailed it down the mountain in record time - just over two hours. We made our way to the local bus terminal, bought our tickets, and headed back to Gwangju sore and slightly disillusioned.
The others decided to shower and regroup to get their grooves on, but I thought I would take some time to myself to unwind. I headed home to change and pack a few things for the jimjilbang, since nothing sounded better than a good scrub and some time in a sauna and a hot tub. Then, as I was getting ready to leave, a Kimbap Nara delivery driver knocked on the door. I opened the door for him and tried to explain that I hadn't ordered food - apparently there has been a mix-up since I ordered food for my co-workers one time, and now the restaurant has our apartment associated with their phone number. Either the driver didn't understand my limited Korean, or he was dissatisfied with it, so I ended up arguing with him for about ten minutes until I called the coworkers who had ordered the food and got them to come over and get it.
I tried to shrug it off as I headed toward the bus stop to catch the bus to head to the jimjilbang. Right as I got to the bus stop, the bus I needed to catch was driving away, so I had to sit and wait in the rain for the next one - then, when I got off, I headed the wrong way down the street and walked around for about twenty minutes before I found it. After asking for directions from a cashier at Cafe Lemon Table, I finally found the place, soaked my sore muscles, and ate a giant bowl of dumpling soup.
I was feeling refreshed and relaxed until I left, when I realized that I had stayed past midnight and that the buses had stopped running. I tried to walk home and got turned around at the five-way intersection, which meant that I wandered into an unfamiliar neighborhood and got lost with no cash for a cab. I had to go to a PC bang to ask where the nearest ATM was, so that I could pull cash and then flag a taxi.
Needless to say, I did not join the party that night.
I guess it really all started when Joel bought a copy of Halo 4 at Kumho World (the local electronics store) two weeks ago. He was super excited about the release and went out to buy a copy one afternoon after our Korean class. He came back from the shop, popped the disc into the Xbox to install it and see what it was all about right before class...and then discovered that all of the cut scenes were dubbed in Korean. They are subtitled in English, and all of the menus are in English, but the actual dialogue is all in Korean with no way to change it. I looked into it, and apparently Microsoft did this for all country-specific releases - and people are universally unhappy with the dubs. Joel can play just fine, but still...part of the fun of Halo is the story, especially Chief's relationship with Cortana, and so much of that is lost with a dub.
That weekend, we were all supposed to go to Jirisan together. I organized the trip and chose a relatively short route (~7 km to ascend 1500 m) that I thought everyone would be able to handle okay to Nogodan shelter. One person in our group opted out from the start, and then Joel's friend from college, who was recently stationed just outside of Seoul with the Army, scheduled his trip to come visit that weekend, so Joel was out as well. The remaining seven of us were all set to go up until the night before the trip - then my co-worker's friend who was flying in didn't actually get to Gwangju until 2 a.m. So my co-worker, his roommate, and his friend decided it would be unwise to attempt a major hike the next day. Fair enough - there were still five of us left.
We caught a bus to Jirisan at 8:20 a.m. on Saturday morning with backpacks full of food, water, blankets (and even a few yoga mats for extra padding). We hit the trail head at ten. The hike up was lovely for about the first half - the trees were all different colors, and the maples in particular were shockingly bright shades of red and orange and were absolutely spectacular. Then, about halfway up the mountain, the climb started to get really steep. Most of the hiking trails in Korea are very manicured and well-maintained, and a very common way from them to keep the trails from eroding is to "pave" them with large jagged rocks. You always know where you are going, but it turns a mountain into one long, steep staircase and can make picking your footing a hazard sometimes. I don't mind it so much, but one of my more vocal co-workers was less than pleased.
"This isn't my favorite hike, I'm not gonna lie."
We kept pushing up. "These rocks are really starting to piss me off!"
The trail wound on as I struggled to keep pace with my more athletic co-hikers. "I fucking hate this mountain!"
Aside from how strenuous the climb was, I was actually enjoying myself, particularly because there were so few other hikers with us (by comparison, Mudeungsan - the mountain just outside of Gwangju - is solidly packed with hikers all weekend). Finally, we exited the forest onto a gravel road, and suddenly I understood why.
The road was crawling with people and cars. We all looked at each other and laughed uncomfortably, realizing all the work we'd done when we probably could have taken a bus or even hitchhiked up the mountain. "That shelter better have a ton of food," one of us joked. We walked up the road and took a last little shortcut through some trees to reach the shelter. As we rounded the final bend and the building came into view, one of the guys started laughing.
"What the...are you fucking kidding me?"
When we read that Nogodan was a hiking "shelter," I think we had all envisioned rather spartan accommodations - i.e. a one-room wooden building with floor space for 108 hikers. What we found was a three-story lodge with beds, a convenience store, and a side-room for people to cook their food. There were hundreds of stylishly-dressed Korean "hikers" milling around with their children and their designer bags. We saw a sign on the other side of the road: "Nogodan Peak - 1.05 km; Parking lot - 2 k.m." The five of us stood with our mouths gaping open for a few minutes, then we sat down and reflected in disbelief.
"This is obscene."
"Not at all what I pictured."
"My friend John is a hard core outdoor enthusiast. He would be so angry right now."
"I can't fucking believe this."
"I really shouldn't be surprised, because this is Korea, but damn. I feel cheated."
I asked the man in the convenience store if we could check in, but he said we couldn't until 5 o'clock. It was 2:30, so we put our stuff down and sat in the cooking area.
"What are we doing to do for two and a half hours?"
"I don't know, but this is ridiculous."
"We could go home," I said, half joking. "The last bus doesn't leave until 6:55."
One of the couples perked up. "That's true...we could."
We looked around at one another. "Do we want to go back?"
"Well, I am pretty much ambivalent," I said. "But if we made it up in five hours, we could make it back down in time if we left now and booked it. What do you guys think?"
After discussing for a bit, we decided to turn around and head back home. We grabbed our things and high-tailed it down the mountain in record time - just over two hours. We made our way to the local bus terminal, bought our tickets, and headed back to Gwangju sore and slightly disillusioned.
The others decided to shower and regroup to get their grooves on, but I thought I would take some time to myself to unwind. I headed home to change and pack a few things for the jimjilbang, since nothing sounded better than a good scrub and some time in a sauna and a hot tub. Then, as I was getting ready to leave, a Kimbap Nara delivery driver knocked on the door. I opened the door for him and tried to explain that I hadn't ordered food - apparently there has been a mix-up since I ordered food for my co-workers one time, and now the restaurant has our apartment associated with their phone number. Either the driver didn't understand my limited Korean, or he was dissatisfied with it, so I ended up arguing with him for about ten minutes until I called the coworkers who had ordered the food and got them to come over and get it.
I tried to shrug it off as I headed toward the bus stop to catch the bus to head to the jimjilbang. Right as I got to the bus stop, the bus I needed to catch was driving away, so I had to sit and wait in the rain for the next one - then, when I got off, I headed the wrong way down the street and walked around for about twenty minutes before I found it. After asking for directions from a cashier at Cafe Lemon Table, I finally found the place, soaked my sore muscles, and ate a giant bowl of dumpling soup.
I was feeling refreshed and relaxed until I left, when I realized that I had stayed past midnight and that the buses had stopped running. I tried to walk home and got turned around at the five-way intersection, which meant that I wandered into an unfamiliar neighborhood and got lost with no cash for a cab. I had to go to a PC bang to ask where the nearest ATM was, so that I could pull cash and then flag a taxi.
Needless to say, I did not join the party that night.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Dogs and Math/Cães e matemática
I have been studying Japanese on and off for nearly four years now. Language self-study comes with its own unique challenges, and it requires a special kind of discipline, but I would say that I haven't done too badly for myself - I have a Japanese conversation partner who lives outside of Tokyo that I Skype with about twice a week, and she assures me that my Japanese is pretty good. (Taking into consideration that she is Japanese, and is unfailingly polite, I am not quite sure how much salt I should take it with, but I will still take it.) One of the interesting things that comes with language self-study in this age, however, is the online community of people that are learning the same language. You can find some really awesome resources on the forums of language-learning website, and they are an amazing trove of information about the country and culture, particularly the Japanese language learning community. I am not as plugged into it as I once was, but I used to browse those forums almost every day looking for podcasts and places to practice reading and memorizing things like hiragana and katakana.
Along with actual language resources, there was a lot of commentary on Japanese people, their culture and mannerisms, and what it was like for foreigners (particularly Westerners) to live and work in Japan. One thing that I thought was very interesting to read were accounts of reactions that people got to their ability to speak Japanese. Expats always assured learners that any effort to speak Japanese would be greeted with pleasant surprise and would make things easier, but some people found it annoying after a while. One guy posted a comment that the common Japanese reaction to a foreigner speaking the language was shock and a kind of bizarre fascination, sort of like "Wow, look - that dog can do math!"
Some days, we feel the same way about how some of our Korean co-workers treat us. Obviously we know that none of it is intended to be malicious or rude - they are concerned for our general well-being, and they know that life in a foreign country can be overwhelming at times, so I am sure that it is all meant to be helpful. Nonetheless, some days we really wonder if they think we are completely incompetent and helpless.
For example, one day at work my husband was talking to one of our newer American co-workers in the small office (my desk is in the big office).
Megan: Hey, what's the Korean word for 'no'?
Husband: It's 아니요 [aniyo].
Korean co-worker: [shocked] How do you know that?!
Husband: Well, I've been studying Korean for the past four months.
KC: What?! You are studying Korean?!!
Husband: Yeah. I understand a lot more than most of you think I do.
He relayed an even more interesting conversation with a different co-worker that happened that same week.
KC: So what did you do this weekend, Joel?
Husband: Oh, I went downtown and just hung out with people.
KC: Oh, you mean people from work?
Husband: No, some of my other friends.
KC: [shocked] You have friends?
Husband: Yeah...
KC: Are they other foreigners?
Husband: Some are foreigners, some are Korean.
KC: [incredulous] You have Korean friends?
Husband: Yes...
KC: ...How?
This conversation was pretty shocking to the rest of our Western co-workers when Joel retold it, and he was (understandably) mildly insulted by the suggestion that he would be unable to make friends. But our Korean co-workers are generally very nice people, and I don't believe they mean to suggest that we are helpless. Still, we get this kind of reaction all the time; most of them were blown away that Joel and I explored the city our first weekend here, or that we were able to find our way around to any restaurants at all. We figured that they had visions of us cowering in our apartment and subsisting off of the bread, jam, and choco pies that our employer bought us.
The whole experience has gotten me thinking a lot about how these kinds of attitudes and preconceptions can marginalize people. While we try to be understanding and give people the benefit of the doubt, it is insulting to encounter the constant shock that we, as immigrants, are able to do simple things for ourselves, or that we would try to learn the language (in fact, many Koreans are completely floored that we even know how to read). WeI were talking about it earlier this week, and how frustrating it is for people to assume that we would be the kinds of expats who don't want to learn about the culture we are in and refuse to try to do things on our own. Then I asked him, "Do we do that to people back home?"
"To a certain extent, yes."
"But to whom? To immigrants? I never felt like I acted that way toward foreigners."
"You do that to just about anybody who is different from you. Maybe we don't do it so much with immigrants, but to minorities. Think of how frustrating it would be for an educated Black person to talk to someone who was shocked that they had a degree. Like, 'You graduated from college? You wentto college?' No one does it on purpose, but it's a natural reaction to someone who is different from you."
I found the prospect highly disturbing. How many stereotypes do we carry around with us subconsciously, especially if we are from a racial or ethnic majority, that affect the way we talk to and treat people? What does it do to a person's self-esteem if they have to take those kinds of comments their entire life? And how would those kinds of attitudes affect my work in public health?
My husband let me bounce my thoughts off of him for the next hour or so, and then he smiled (with only a hint of mirth) and touched my arm. "Well, this is how you become a better person." Then he got a little more serious. "It's good that you are thinking about this so much. Sometimes I can be too cavalier about it."
Along with actual language resources, there was a lot of commentary on Japanese people, their culture and mannerisms, and what it was like for foreigners (particularly Westerners) to live and work in Japan. One thing that I thought was very interesting to read were accounts of reactions that people got to their ability to speak Japanese. Expats always assured learners that any effort to speak Japanese would be greeted with pleasant surprise and would make things easier, but some people found it annoying after a while. One guy posted a comment that the common Japanese reaction to a foreigner speaking the language was shock and a kind of bizarre fascination, sort of like "Wow, look - that dog can do math!"
Some days, we feel the same way about how some of our Korean co-workers treat us. Obviously we know that none of it is intended to be malicious or rude - they are concerned for our general well-being, and they know that life in a foreign country can be overwhelming at times, so I am sure that it is all meant to be helpful. Nonetheless, some days we really wonder if they think we are completely incompetent and helpless.
For example, one day at work my husband was talking to one of our newer American co-workers in the small office (my desk is in the big office).
Megan: Hey, what's the Korean word for 'no'?
Husband: It's 아니요 [aniyo].
Korean co-worker: [shocked] How do you know that?!
Husband: Well, I've been studying Korean for the past four months.
KC: What?! You are studying Korean?!!
Husband: Yeah. I understand a lot more than most of you think I do.
He relayed an even more interesting conversation with a different co-worker that happened that same week.
KC: So what did you do this weekend, Joel?
Husband: Oh, I went downtown and just hung out with people.
KC: Oh, you mean people from work?
Husband: No, some of my other friends.
KC: [shocked] You have friends?
Husband: Yeah...
KC: Are they other foreigners?
Husband: Some are foreigners, some are Korean.
KC: [incredulous] You have Korean friends?
Husband: Yes...
KC: ...How?
This conversation was pretty shocking to the rest of our Western co-workers when Joel retold it, and he was (understandably) mildly insulted by the suggestion that he would be unable to make friends. But our Korean co-workers are generally very nice people, and I don't believe they mean to suggest that we are helpless. Still, we get this kind of reaction all the time; most of them were blown away that Joel and I explored the city our first weekend here, or that we were able to find our way around to any restaurants at all. We figured that they had visions of us cowering in our apartment and subsisting off of the bread, jam, and choco pies that our employer bought us.
The whole experience has gotten me thinking a lot about how these kinds of attitudes and preconceptions can marginalize people. While we try to be understanding and give people the benefit of the doubt, it is insulting to encounter the constant shock that we, as immigrants, are able to do simple things for ourselves, or that we would try to learn the language (in fact, many Koreans are completely floored that we even know how to read). WeI were talking about it earlier this week, and how frustrating it is for people to assume that we would be the kinds of expats who don't want to learn about the culture we are in and refuse to try to do things on our own. Then I asked him, "Do we do that to people back home?"
"To a certain extent, yes."
"But to whom? To immigrants? I never felt like I acted that way toward foreigners."
"You do that to just about anybody who is different from you. Maybe we don't do it so much with immigrants, but to minorities. Think of how frustrating it would be for an educated Black person to talk to someone who was shocked that they had a degree. Like, 'You graduated from college? You wentto college?' No one does it on purpose, but it's a natural reaction to someone who is different from you."
I found the prospect highly disturbing. How many stereotypes do we carry around with us subconsciously, especially if we are from a racial or ethnic majority, that affect the way we talk to and treat people? What does it do to a person's self-esteem if they have to take those kinds of comments their entire life? And how would those kinds of attitudes affect my work in public health?
My husband let me bounce my thoughts off of him for the next hour or so, and then he smiled (with only a hint of mirth) and touched my arm. "Well, this is how you become a better person." Then he got a little more serious. "It's good that you are thinking about this so much. Sometimes I can be too cavalier about it."
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