For ever and for ever when I move

Okay, I confess, I seriously owe you some updates.

However, I am still short on time and am consequently going to assuage my conscience by feeding you pictures. This is picture- post one: snapshots around Korea, the basic grain and feel of Korea.

So here you go, please enjoy this miniature photo- update of the past month. I promise to write more soon. Before I do that, I may publish a second photo update of school life.

Love love love from Korea.

Buddha heads and books: Shelf shot from a cluttered shop in Insadong, Seoul

A sudden discovery: Back road treasure in Yeoju, South Korea

Traditional Samul Nori dance performance in Insadong, Seoul, South Korea

Very happy student with miniature snowman. Adorable. Yeoju, South Korea

Mandarin Oranges are the winter fruit in Korea, straight up from Jeju-do Island on the Southern tip of Korea. Delicious. Cheap. Incredibly delicious.

Asian self- photo with incredibly awesome dragon turtle grave marker for some ancient monk.

Me with a delicious bowl of spicy seafood Pho (yes, Vietnamese Pho!) and a mini squid clenched between my chopsticks. The smaller they are, the more chewy and tough they are. Plus the eight miniature legs covered in miniature tentacles is a little goofy.. the worst is if the little tentacles get stuck between your teeth.

Since it’s been awhile since I’ve posted some pictures, here are some super cute ones of my students.

Last week was the big entrance exam for University that the 3rd grade students have been preparing for all year. It has been described to me as an equivalent of the SAT, though I’m certain that comparison is made only for lack of anything in America with greater equivalency.

Cluster of students with sign.

In Korea, the entire community is aware which day is testing day. Every effort is made to keep silence in the vicinity of the school. First and second grade high school students get the day off. The middle school next to me got the day off, for they would be too loud and consequently distracting to the third grade test- takers.

The third grade students spend the entire year preparing for this exam: they study vocabulary in mass quantities. They take practice exams every week. They are constantly testing, constantly studying, constantly preparing for this exam. Keep in mind that Korean high school student do very little other than study: many of them live on campus and only get to go home every other weekend. From what I understand, there are no after school clubs or sports. Instead of spending time in track and field, or in the National Honor Society or playing four square or playing in the pit orchestra for the school musical, Korean students will attend extra classes. Sometimes students have to leave extra classes early in order to go to Academie, which is basically private, expensive, concentrated school.

Waiting for the 3rd graders to exit the building....

What do Korean students do on the weekends? They sleep, watch drama or variety show on TV (Korea is famous throughout Asia for their television shows), or study. Many students attend Academie class on Saturday evening and take exams for Academie on Sunday. Korean students are expert study-ers and test- takers.

So basically, this University exam is the pinnacle of years and years of studying. If they do poorly on this exam (which, I feel, is unlikely), they may not be able to attend their University of choice, consequently losing the opportunity to prepare for and get their job of choice, consequently losing their lifestyle of choice. It’s a big deal. Stress levels are high, to say the least.

Two days before the exam, the first and second graders piled the third graders high with gifts and chocolates. The day before the big exam, many of the younger students made a cheer line outside of the school while the third graders filtered out to go home. It was really sweet, lots of cheering and laughing and freezing, but a very happy event. I’m so happy I brought my camera along and manage to catch some shots– also, while these students may all look similar to you, and their faces blend together with their uniforms as they once did for me, it’s really neat for me to realize that I recognize them. These are my students. They already have stolen a warm part of my heart– I see their smiles, their squirming faces as they try to communicate to me on a daily basis, their cheerful hellos in the hallways, their giggling Korean that I cannot understand… they’re my students. I’m proud of them. It’s an incredibly special feeling to have, and I’m grateful to the experiences that have led me here.

Bashful, giggling third graders as they are cheered to by their younger classmates.

A couple students grabbed me and yelled, "Teacher, teacher, picture, you!" These two are super giggly happy girls that are always giddy to see me. <3

While we’re on this sentimental note, I’ll just end with this last thought. I have been teaching extra classes after school, and three nights a week I teach in two- hour blocks to anywhere from six to twelve students. Every other week the classes swap, and occasionally I have a new student or two trickle in. It’s amazing some days, how I leave class and though I am exhausted, and oftentimes go home and immediately collapse in bed only to wake early in the morning again…. it’s really amazing, the warmth in my heart I feel towards these girls. They try so hard for me, and I try for them, and though some days we only play games, other days we work really really hard to find words to express what they want to say. It’s incredible.

Some days it’s really tough, but I’m blessed to be here and I’m grateful for their eager hearts.

Picture this.

It’s 6:10 pm and I’m waiting for the students that are late to my extra class. Six of the early students are already sitting and chatting with me before one of them tells me that class will end early today. I send her down to talk to the main teacher for a time confirmation, though I easily believed her, for upon my entering the dormitory tonight, the entire downstairs was filled with colored balloons. “Party tonight! Third grade… exams finishee, University…” were amoung the explinations I received while blowing up my own balloon and bopping another one at a student as she screamed and ran behind me to bop another balloon at me from behind.

Side note, the students are the ones that let me know if anything is happening. It’s rare for a teacher to fill me in on the events before they are already underway.

Back to the classroom. We receive confirmation of early dismissal time, 7:30 pm for the party. Happily, we all decide there isn’t enough time for a worksheet and, with much rejoicing, decide to play Bingo and Catch Phrase. Tonight we played Exercise/ Sport Bingo, followed by Animal Bingo, followed by a rousing game of Catch Phrase.

My extra classes are generally a really great time.

Bingo usually goes as follows: brainstorm as a class, completely fill the white board with words, individually fill out a 5 x 5 self- made Bingo board. When we’re ready to begin, I walk around the room with a recently emptied pencil case, newly filled with little slips of paper that have the freshly brainstormed words handwritten on them. Each student picks a word and has to say it. Fun every time.

Catch Phrase is just like the catch phrase you play with your friends on Friday night, and is basically one of the most fun games in the world. I brainstorm new words for the studets every time, put them in a self- made envelope and watch my class of adorable high school Korean girls speak in English and get enthusiastically, wildly excited when the clock runs out on the other team.

Finish extra English class early. Clean up scraps of paper. Leave the room and the dorm is swarming with excited, screaming girls. Enter an elevator filled to the brim with students, me in the middle. Lots of giggling. Ride down four floors. Still surrounded by giggles. An occasional mystery poke. More giggles. Not sure what to do once we reach the main floor, I manage to find one of the teachers nearby.

She grabs my arm in a sea of students, and says, “Hamburger…”

I giggle, “What?”

“Yes, hamburger… go to office… on your desk… hamburger. Please eat.”

I’m still giggling. This is so goofy. “Hamburger?”

“Yes, hamburger! Hamburger. Please enjoy hamburger. On your desk.”

Still laughing, I thank her and ask if she will join me in the office (though I’d rather stay with the giggling girls and join the party…) and, “No, I stay. You enjoy hamburger.”

So, short brisk walk back and I arrive at my teacher cubicle desk to find, as promised, an individually prepackaged hamburger and a miniature can of Pepsi soda pop.

I’m not completely sure when it was decided that a hamburger was an appropriate snack, especially after already eating two full meals today (and I mean huge, full, and inappropriately stuffing meals) … but, when in Korea? Eat Western food as the Koreans do?

Hah! False.

The truism is as follows: When in Korea, avoid Western food at all costs. Do your best to avoid eating that sloppy, soggy white bread with ketchup, corn pieces and hot dog slices, folded once on itself and stacked high in a tray with dozens of other “pizzas”.

Do your best to avoid Korean imitations of American candies. Korean skittles, though they sound like they might be skittles when you give the bag a test- shake, are actually rock- hard sharply neon- flavored citrus and taste awful. They may or may not crack your teeth upon chewing. Chocolate will not melt in your mouth. Though Krunkie candy bars are a little bit like a Crunch bar, and will satisfy your immediate cravings for chocolate, they won’t satisfy in the long run. Hard candies will probably taste like ginseng and make your burps taste funny for the rest of the day, unless they taste like grape, in which case they are amazing.

Rice and red beans are used for desert purposes and make delicious cakes. Consequently, since rice is the familiar mode of sweet desert, wheat products will be treated as a delicacy item and will most likely be completely loaded with sugar. Sugar white bread. Sugar coffee. Other super- sweet sugary things I can’t remember at the moment because it’s time to end this excessively long footnote, pour out the rest of this mini- Pepsi and make my way home. Hooray! Home.

As you may or may not have heard, the big questions upon meeting someone in Korea are as follows:

(1) The age bomb. It usually goes as follows:

“Nice to meet you”(Bashful look and Korean murmurings.) “Do you mind, I ask how old you are?”

To which I’ll respond, in Korean years, which are one year more than most human years, being that the 9 months in Korean utero are counted as near- enough to pop you out as a one- year old. (Also, all Koreans increase their age at the new year–not on their birthday! So though they still celebrate their birthday with cakes and stuff, since cake and bread is all the rage for delicacy and special occasion ’round these parts, they don’t get older. Weird, huh.)

Even despite using Korean years to boost my age, I’m always met with “ooohhhhhhhh” and “murmurmurmurjjjealous” and “so young!” So, needless to say, I generally dread this question.

Furthermore, in the event I ask the curious questioning Korean their own age, they will be super- duper tricky and say, “Guess!” which is IMPOSSIBLE to do, due to the fact that (1) all Koreans dye their hair dark, and (2) it is impossible to guess Asian ages. Seriously. So hard.

(2) Your blood type. Now, I was given ample warning that this question would hit me regularly, but it’s still a little goofy to me. From what I gather, knowing your blood type is a little like knowing whether you are type A or type B personality, or knowing what sign you are, or any other means to guage personality and compatibility upon first impression.

Basically, I can never tell them my blood type, because I don’t know. I’ve never known. Unless you donate blood, which I’ve tried to do a couple times but was short on iron due to lack of red meat and broccoli consumption in my late high- school years, you just don’t know.

They always look so disappointed when I can’t tell them.

Oh! Also.

My personal favorite is that in many of the calendar/ planner books in Korea, on the back page where you write your name and info and stuff, you have to option to fill in these corresponding boxes: Name, Address, Phone Number, Birthday, Blood Type, School, etc.

(3) The Boyfriend. If you’ve managed to continue conversation past the first two bombs, you may be met with this:

“I’m sorry, but may I ask… do you have a boyfriend?”

To which, when responding with a ‘no’, you are met with either surprise or concern. “But, oh… but you so pretty!! Why boyfriend, no?”

I’ve made the mistake of feigning disappointment at a couple of these questionings (do not underestimate how many questionings I’ve had… endless upon endless encounters with these three bombs…) which just brings on a huge show of genuine pity, and/ or the attempt to set me up on blind dates.

Also, side- side note, blind dates in Korea are a pretty common thing.

One of the most comical boyfriend moments: One day, a few weeks back, I was walking with one of the young female teachers from my school to the Post Office. One of the foreigners in Yeoju (of which there are only about 20-30 foreigners to the population of 100,000 Koreans in Yeoju), who happened to be a boy, and who I also happened to know, biked past and said hello to me. We briefly asked each other about dinner plans before saying goodbye and moving on.

Ms. Lee turned to me, excitedly, and asked, “Your boyfriend!?!”

I told her, not regretfully at all, no.

She was quiet for a moment before turning to me and saying, quite solemnly, “You missed an opportunity there. Really, I think.”

Ba dum dum. But! No fear. I’m happy as a clam in jam.

Aaaaaand, school’s out. Today is Wednesday and I get to go home while the sun still sets! (No such thing as Daylight Savings Time in Korea! Sun is gone by 5.20pm).

Love!

Truth be told, it’s hard to be exempt from politics.

Sometimes it’s lucky. When the Korean teachers are all sharing their stresses regarding the new Principal and how harsh she is, I can’t participate in conversation because I simply don’t speak the language. “She scold… is too harsh… very stress. Many teachers very unhappy, is very difficult….” is about the extent of what I get from the few teachers that are brave enough/ care enough to try and let me in on the loop.

I’m also lucky, because I can virtually do nothing wrong. The Principal cannot speak English: consequently, our interactions basically boil down to an occasional exchange of bows in the hallway, in which I say, “Annyong haseyo!” and she replies, “Naaaay, annyong haseyo” and looks tickled pink that I’ve spoken Korean. I am exempt from teacher meetings; I am unable to participate in opinionated discussions; I have thus far been unable to have an adequate opinion regarding the Principal, since I have not felt the direct sting of her slowly- growing rule over the school.

Until this week.

Story time: if you all recall the beginning of the year, I was honored with the opportunity to play soccer with the male teachers every Wednesday here at school. They bought me bright red, brand new soccer kicks. They bought me shin guards. They welcomed me with full fervor and a more- than- appropriate amount of excitement and praise for my skills. The women teachers continually told me they were on the sidelines cheering for me. The students lined the field and cheered, screamed from the windows of all four floors of the school and left sticky notes with messages like, “Amanda! Hi~! You play soccer good. You understand? Sorry… English very hard -.-” etc.

Every Wednesday day I was greeted with an, “Amanda! You soccer? Today?” throughout the day by all members of the school, and after a couple hours of celebrity- status soccer, in which I feel my skills adequately matched but rarely surpassed the skills of the teachers, except for a few of the amazingly fast with beautiful- footwork players, the male teachers would take me out to a communal pasta meal to eat dinner with them.

Soccer in this school has been by far the most culturally inviting motion that has ever been made to me. Sure, I’ve had some incredibly amazing gestures from individuals in Europe. I’ve had incredibly kind gestures from friends, families and teachers in America. But I have never, ever had hundreds of people be so, so kind and inviting to me. I have never felt so welcomed in my life.

End feelings. Continue story. Three weeks ago all the teachers were supposed to go to this field with real grass (total excitement, big deal). They told me about it all week. I brought all my stuff. I waited. The time at which we were supposed to leave came, and then it passed. I waited still. And waited. And then, I asked Mr. Choi when we were leaving. “No soccer today.” Hm. Okay.

I went home.

Next Wednesday, no soccer.

Next Wednesday, still no soccer.

I’m clueless. And sad. But hope still remains.

Until this week.

On Monday, Mr. Choi, the other Mr. Choi that isn’t my desk buddy, asked me how my soccer shoes were doing. “They’re too clean!” I told him. “Yes,” he agreed. (Still clueless.) Finally, I asked for the scoop. Regretfully, I got a clear answer.

There will be no more soccer played at school.

As I understand it, the Principal fears that the male teachers gossip about her when they are together, and, consequently, they are no longer able to get together to play soccer.

Crushingly, this also means that I will no longer be able to get together to play soccer. There will be no more celebrity soccer status for me. There will be no more weekly requirement of exercise and community. There will be no more conversations and bonding with the shy non- English speaking teachers that want to tell me they (a) saw me play soccer, or (b) were impressed while playing with me.

It’s pretty much the saddest thing ever.

And so it is, though I may not understand a single word in the river of words that is constantly flowing over my head here in Korea, and regardless my level of understanding, I still feel the effect.

As it is, the Principal seems to have the say for everything here.

All artwork has been removed from all the walls.

The cool Asian goldfish are gone, tank and all.

The teachers continue to talk in dismay.

And now, there will be no more soccer.

** In a seemingly unbearable turn of irony, the writer of this post has concluded the post after returning to a completely empty sea of teacher desks. Cluelessness, sans the company of other teachers. Confusion a la cluelessness. The phone keeps ringing and there’s no one to answer it. Where is everyone? Where, oh where, have you gone? Why have you left me behind?

Sigh. Oh, the irony. Oh, Korea.

Best decision of the day:

Purchasing a tiny box of chocolate milk for my walk to school this morning. Amazing.

Best part of my weekend:

Climbing up a mountain in Juwangsan national park and making friends with a huge group of Koreans that had spread out two tarps and were having a giant picnic at the top. Best gimbop of my time here. So good. It’s incredible what a smile can do. We subsequently ran out of time and kindof had to run back down the mountain. Almost died three times. Worth it.

Best rememberance:

Remembering to bring colored pencils with me on the hike. I didn’t end up using them, but it made me proud that I remembered. Good job, self!

New favorite image of Korea:
A rest stop at 8pm on a Sunday evening. So packed, three rows of car traffic, music, travel agencies (or parking ticket collectors?) street food, music, and toilet paper!

Quick update to keep you posted.

I’ve been taking Korean lessons with one of the teachers at school, Ms. Park. She is one of the English teachers and is enormously patient with me, forcing me to correct each incorrect vowel and consonant that I, with my lame and slow tongue, have trouble pronouncing. It is enormously difficult for my brain to assign sounds to little lines with sticks poking out of them, and it’s even more impossible to understand how those sounds could possibly have a greater meaning. How does a horizontal line with a miniature perpendicular cross that pokes either up or down prove the difference between something sounding like an “oo” and an “ouu”? And what do they mean?

Anyways, despite my obvious inability to understand, my teacher likes to tell me I am, “Genius! Really… very smart,” and let me know that I’m doing well. I’m really not sure that’s very true, but she wants to keep teaching me, so I’ll keep going.

(I get the same reaction if I repeat a Korean word… anywhere. If I walk outside and say, “Chup-da,” all the teachers go, “Woo-ah” and are so proud of me. I just remember because chupda, or cold, sounds like a Chupa pop, and Chupa pops are pretty much the coolest things ever. Awesome free bonus points for me.)

The honest report is that my language acquisition pace is plodding, at best. But I’m trying!

Recent winner of the gold- star- for- what- would- make- American- children- cry- if- you- served- it- to- them- at- school- lunch:

Typical School Lunch, radial from left to right: Kimchi veg, Fish, Turnip Kimchi, Spam Soup, Rice

Kimchi vegetables, a variety that I thought were green beans but only just learned are the stem of a (?) sweet potato (?) plant, kind of cool; Entire Fish Delicacy, in which you use your chopsticks to tear apart the top layer of fried- skin and eat the white, salty fleshy part and try to avoid the bones and the oogly boogly glazed over win-the-staring-contest-every-time eyes, Kimchi of the turnip variety (my favorite), Rice with Beans (the beans an unusual but delicious addition) and Spam and Cabbage Soup (common, soup like this every day, but not always with spam).

I arrived at lunch this day and couldn’t stop chuckling; all through the meal I just imagined what children across America would do were this meal served to them. My ponderings included temper tantrums, tears, screams, shocked disbelief, bigger tears at learning this was actually lunch, and on and on.

Interesting fact: Spam became a part of the Korean diet after the widespread famine and poverty in the country following WWII and the Korean War. Along with the American military presence in Korea, there was Spam.

I mistakenly told one of the teachers that Spam comes from Minnesota, after which she asked me: “Why don’t you eat it?” I had no real answer for her. *

It’s really not uncommon to see Spam in meals. Once at dinner we just had sliced up pieces of Spam, fried in a sort of eggy substance, and I didn’t eat that either: one of the teachers asked me, “Don’t you like pork?” and I told her, only sometimes. Though it hasn’t happened to me yet, I’ve heard that oftentimes people will give Spam as a gift…. I (can’t) wait. As in, I can definitely wait.

Dakgalbi buds: two of my foreigner teacher friends, Ryan to the left and Matt to the right, with the remains of our dakgalbi meal. Meals are communal in Korea: you go to a restaurant, sit on the floor with the food in the middle and eat your fill.

Booby Love: the last picture and meal before I spent an evening and early morning puking my guts out. I might have to wait awhile before eating dakgalbi again. Hooray for the unexpected! Boo for realizing how much rice you communally ate earlier that night as you're forcing it all back out. Also, that white guy in the background is my tall bald foreign teacher friend named Brian. Coincidentally enough, if you've been following my blog, those three people pictured are the three that joined me in our YangPeyong in-testicle food adventure. Yuck.

I’m satisfied with the random assortment of gifts that have been secretly placed and sit waiting at my desk when I arrive at work. From the top of my mind, they are as follows: a personalized towel with the date, a day of no particular significance at all. A gift box of three 500ml bottles of Canola and Grapeseed oil. A box of pineapple chocolates from the class trip to Jeju-do Island. Handfuls of weird corn and octopus- flavored chips and bugles. Random small pieces of candy. An apple. Spontaneous invitations to have a dixie cup of (sugar) coffee. A chocolate- marshmallow moon pie. Occasionally a little bottle of super- sugary Vitamin C drink. Occasional offer to have a bite of raw sweet potato a student is nibbling on. Once an offer to have a sip of the Coca Cola a student was drinking. Occasional rice cake. Occasional piece of gum. Lots of little sticky notes of doodles and characters (adorable) and confessions of love: “I love you! Amanda! but I like boys (haha!)” and etc.

Well, that’s it for now. Until next time!

Love.

*A concerned reader has recently brought to my attention the fact that additions and adaptations of previously posted blog posts are crudely against blog etiquette. And I quote, “I mean, how am I supposed to finish reading the interweb if it keeps changing on me? I’m not even sure I have time in my life to read it *once*”. Well stated, concerned reader. Your concerns have been deemed reasonable and it is our hope that you will find them to have been suitably accounted for.

Accordingly, due to my recent induction into POEM, aka Professional Organization of English Majors, I must apologize for the ignorance of my actions and subsequently must reject the addition of the obvious, “Spam is gross,” in order to assume the previous and unaltered state of equanimity and impassivity in attitude toward Spam.

With warm regards and grateful consideration, this disclaimer has been posted by the publisher of this blog. Adieu.

Time slips away so quickly, I am so busy.

Weekends are spent exploring and the school weeks are packed with working, and where does the time go? I want very much to write a valuable post for all you at home, miss you much, but instead will leave you with a few pictures and short remedies:

Whole Chicken in Broth.

Another weekend in Seoul, this time pursuing the Global Gathering 2010 Electronic Music Festival (YUM) really amazing night of flashing lights, crazy dancing in the midst of happy, innocent K-Pop dancing Koreans, and general enthusiasm for life.

For the meal before the show we walked into a restaurant, and, exhausted, couldn’t even attempt to use the little Korean we had, consequently shuffling awkwardly around for a bit before saying: “Chicken?” and seating ourselves in the mostly- empty local restaurant.

Result: The delivery of an entire chicken in a bowl of broth. We each got a bowl with an entire chicken in it. I have never been so happy at the result of random ordering. Hooray, Korea! You win!

Cute, Boy: Cute, Sweater

Next story is more visual than visceral in terms of understanding. Notice adorable boy to the left; notice adorable boy to the left’s adorable sweater.

Two kittens, hugging over a spool of yarn!? Is there anything more adorable than that!?

And is there more to say after that? Everything in Korea is adorable. I love Asia.

Note: This picture is valuable insight to what it is like riding on an empty Korean subway. Now just imagine being packed in there like sardines! Oh boy.

At their request, Domino's Pizza Party at my apartment.

Third and final story before I go collapse in bed and begrudgingly drag myself out of bed in the morning, too early in the morning: I have been slowly forming a friendship with many of the teachers in my school, which is amazing! I am so happy they want to get to know me. 🙂 We finally managed to find a time we could all (most) get together, and two of the teachers took me for a traditional Bibimbop dinner and we met two others later at my apartment. I must admit it was a little exhausting, five extra hours of language barriers in my usual relax- and- sit- in- English- safehaven- of- an- apartment. The struggle to speak to be understood, as well as struggling to understand, is really a lot of work. But they are all so sweet to me and after we click into certain topics it really is fun.

Oooookay, one last thing. I totally made apple pie today at school. It was amazingly delicious, had to make it all from scratch. I hung out in the Special Education room all morning and had a cooking class with them, showed them how to make apple pie, and made enough to distribute to three offices of teachers!

So, you may want to ask, what happens when one gives a group of Koreans an apple pie to share?

Delicious apple pie for all!

Oh! Lucky you, I have the answer.

When one gives a group of Koreans an apple pie without utensils to accompany, they may or may not stand around talking incomprehensible-to-you language, laugh a lot, take the pie and flip it upside down on a tray (where did that tray come from!?) amidst yelling and pointing, and then pick it up with their hands and attempt to flip it back right side up: after the pie is completely demolished on a tray (a beautiful sight), they will attack with chopsticks and it’s completely fair game. Delicious. Happiness for all. Yum.

With happiness and love, and a whole lot of tiredness, signing out from Yeoju-gun, Gyeonggi-do, South Korea.

Hello family, friends, random strangers from the web:

Another week in Korea has passed beautifully by. The mountains today are peaceful, beautiful, fading gently as the train weaves through the landscape, the green hue of the trees transformed to a soft and gentle blue in the midst of the fog. Amid the distant sounds of construction, I spent my day quietly, breathing the cool breeze and enjoying the warmth of the sunshine, the color of my pencils, the scratch of the pen.

There are few thoughts in my head but to tell you things are quite busy, as per usual when life is spent exploring and meeting people. The more familiar I become with Korea, the more beautiful it is, though it may be noted that my romantic perception of life is, indeed, romantic, and though there are many things in Korea that are perceptually and culturally different from the land of purple mountains majesty, the bad things do not in any way outnumber the good. I am happy in Korea: everything is new and interesting to me.

There are many things I miss from home but such is the constant state of life, and I am happy to be here now.

A few pictures to speak louder than words:

Welcome to Korea, Modern and Ancient: Gyeongbokgung Palace in Seoul

Market Day in Yeoju.

Happy Audience: Seoul World Design Fair 2010

Well hello there.

It’s been awhile, and for this I apologize.

Athough time seems to have stopped on this blog, it has done anything but in the living world. Today is my one month anniversary in Korea, happy anniversary to me! I hope Korea is happy about it as well. Anniversaries are lonely things to celebrate alone.

Anyhow, boy have things been happening. This past week was a big Korean holiday: Chuseok, the celebration of the harvest, which means that all the Korean kiddos go to grandmother’s house for the weekend and the foreigner teachers bond together to try and battle the traffic and make something of their unexpected- and- rather- abrubt week off from teaching duties. Being that we are all without our official Alien Registration Cards, and consequently unable to leave the country, a small collection of Wisco grad kids and I gathered up our cameras, notebooks and odd- number of travel clothes and went to Seoul! Hooray!

It was great. My second time in Seoul, and I’m in love.

There are, however, a few notable accomplishments that must not be overlooked.

First big demon: the subway. When one is a newbie to big cities in general, subways are a formidable beast to face. There that newbie stands, a colorful bowl of spaghetti noodles mapped out and open in their hand, and for whatever confusing, awful reason, that map stubbornly refuses to let up its secrets. Meanwhile, all around is ordered chaos, a never- ending flow of people that know exactly what needs to be done to get past those beeping, blocking machines and don’t appreciate the awkwardly gawking around and blocking the perfectly synchronized flow of traffic.

Well friends, I have to admit that on my first trip to Seoul, I was that newbie. I meekly followed where my equally foreign friends led (which was, I’ll admit again, to a safe corner of the subway system as we poked the map and begged it to release its secrets), but now! Oh, now.

Let me just tell you, I am a newbie no more. I have conquered the Seoul subway system. When I take that bowl of colorful spaghetti noodles from its expertly folded home in my back pocket, those beautiful lines all crissing and crossing that enormous span of city, I hold a puzzle! An intricate puzzle that allows me to get from any point in Seoul to any other point in Seoul almost instantaneously. It’s amazing. Instead of confusion, it’s a code. Awesome. Plus, I now have a T-Money card that is good for use on the subway, for any taxi in Seoul, and for half the pay- phones in the city. Equally awesome. Goodbye, awkward gawking. Hello suave new white girl, welcome to your second home.

Second demon to face down: traveling alone in such a big city as Seoul. I have to admit, this also was intimidating for me. Something about the ultra- foreign feeling of the language, the absurd way I stick out in a crowd, and the still- not- completely- acclimated- to- the- culture in Korea has made me feel a bit like a turtle roaming out of its shell. I kind of miss that cozy turtley- shell feeling.

But, again, I’ve done it. My first subway ride on my own was a bit nerve- wracking. It didn’t help that as I sat alone in the corner of the train, a little old Korean man sitting across from me and staring at me, without a single blink, dusk slowly setting outside the windows, a blazingly bright traditional Korean mask rested on my head, (one that I had decorated earlier that day at the Seoul World Design Fair 2010). It wasn’t long before I cracked under the pressure and took it off.

Not only did I travel alone to meet an old friend from Madison that evening, but I spent the entirety of the next day kicking around Seoul on my own, and it felt great. I unexpectedly visited the Gyeongbokgung Palace in downtown Seoul, figured out the city map and made it to Insadong, (okay, it was only a few blocks away, but still….): the artsy hub of Seoul, known for art galleries, paint studios and a beautiful open- air market that stretches for several blocks. It was so peaceful to wander the city alone without the stressed- out feeling that has been camping in the back of my head for far too long.

The next few days in Seoul were relatively uneventful in terms of blogosphere ratings, but for this:

Picture us, three ragged companions with me on a train back to rural Yeoju after three nights of very little sleep. Matt plays with his iPad, I sit beside him reading a book, Brian sits beside me staring out the window, Ryan sits beside Brian napping with his headphones in.

We are tired. We are hungry. We have very little money and we haven’t eaten any food all day. The train unexpectedly unloads us and we have to transfer. Before this, we accidentally rode on the train for too long and had to backtrack twenty minutes. We want to go home and we each want to sleep in our own beds. Seoul is beautiful but exhausting. Korea is beautiful and exhausting. I want to be in my own bed in my big apartment and I want to sleep for a very, very long time.

Transfer in Yeong Peyong, get off the train and walk a half hour through the downtown towards the bus stop. It is Wednesday, Chuseok day, and aside from soldiers in the streets with their families and random scatterings of large groups of friends, there are few people out. We are a gangly, the odd ones out in the streets and we are hungry. Most of the restaurants are closed, but as we are passing Baskin Robbins we see a little hole- in- the- wall restaurant beside it that is pretty packed with people. We look at each other and decide to walk in.

Enter the hole in the wall restaurant. There is one open table in the middle and three filled, the restaurant is very small. The corner table to the left is brimming with a group of teenage friends, the back corner table has a couple of old men laughing and eating, their eyes beginning to have the drunken Soju glaze in them. The table to the right has a little old man, his wife and daughter and they have an abundance of food and alcohol on their table. The lady that owns the restaurant clears off the fourth table and wipes away the dead flies and mosquitos as we sit.

Little old man on the table to the right is extremely entertained that we have entered this restaurant. He grabs Ryan’s attention and speaks loudly in Korean, I am beginning to see that he is quite drunk, and he uses his chopsticks to feed Ryan food from his communal dish in the center of his table. Little old drunken Korean man then walks to the back table, grabs a bit of food from their communal center plate, and proceeds to walk back to our table feed it to Ryan. Ryan is doing well under all this attention. The rest of us are half- paying attention, half- figuring out how the hell we’re going to order any food when nothing is in English and we’re bone- weary with exhaustion.

Little drunk old Korean man then decides to feed me a bite of his food, via his hand with his chopsticks, and I am too tired to refuse so I let him. I don’t want to think about what it is, so I just chew. And chew and chew and chew. It’s unchewable, I can’t think about it so I just swallow. One huge gulp and it is down.

“Guys, whatever we order, we do not want that. I promise you. Don’t get what he has. Please. It’s not meat.”

The nice Korean woman is trying her best to take our order but the little drunk old Korean man behind us is telling her we want what he has, pointing at his dish with much enthusiasm, my eyes are begging Brian to change it but the woman is crossing her arms in the ‘no’ symbol and walks away.

At this point, little drunk old Korean man decides to feed us shots of Soju and mechu (beer) mixed together. In the Korean culture it is considered very rude to refuse drinks, especially from people that are on a higher tier of respect than you. Being unsure whether his age is enough to qualify him on a higher tier of respect, and knowing that refusing it will be a much greater battle than taking it, I regretfully accept the shot, and immediately afterwards find another bite of unchewable chunk and liver- paste noodles in my mouth and, desperate not to puke, gag before spitting out the unchewable into a napkin wad beneath my plate.

The rest of the meal consisted in teary disbelief at the enormous plate of pig intestine and, possibly testicle, that we had knowingly- but- powerlessly ordered as all the sounds, sights and smells swirled around me and smacked me hard in my empty gut.

As soon as possible we excavated that restaurant and learned the hard way that a hole- in- the- wall restaurant in Madison is incredibly different than a hole- in- the- wall restaurant in Korea. We trudged on to the bus station and hungrily, with the taste of intestine hoovering on our lips, split ways to our apartments.

Rarely before has a bed felt so wonderful. 😉

Hello, culture shock. Hello, new side of Korean food. Hello bright new world! Can’t wait to see what’s next, haha. Suffice it to say I’ve been taking it easy for the last few days, reading, eating rice, eating eggs, ordering safe things like kimbop and dragon noodle soup, both of which are incredibly delicious and wonderful.

Well! That should be enough of a post to make up for awhile. Take care, until we meet agaiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!! I promise in the next post I will use more pictures than I use words. That’ll be a change, eh? 😉