Christmas, Skiing, and other Diversions

Here comes another scattered post from a scattered mind. I'm staying up tonight to hear Carl Kassel's last newscast, which happens at 1am my time. I sit surrounded by sundry pursuits...my 2010 engagement calender stacked on top of Lonely Planet Korea, with which I've been laying out sightseeing plans. My goal is a day trip, a weekend trip, and one Seoul sight a month...nothing set in stone, but if I don't sketch it out, before I know it, it'll be June and I'll have 6 weekend trips still on my wish list. I also have here Lonely Planet Japan, not needed 'til summer, but fat enough that I want to eke away at it over time; "A New Earth", one of those books that revolutionizes your mind, with a notebook for distilling the author's Deep Thoughts and a journal for pontificating on mine; Rand McNally 2000, my only link to the wonders of my homeland, facilitating dreams for next fall; a wad of foil and wax paper containing homemade bark; my Rick Steves Christmas DVD, which has inexplicably stopped working since last Monday, but hope springs eternal; a thin Korean notebook with random pictures on the cover, including one of Moki Dugway--had to buy it for that (actually bought it for 75 cents, which made the decision easy)...periodically, I clean off the couch, but it never stays that way for long...

Christmas has come and gone since I last wrote, and it was pleasant and even rather festive. I went to a Christmas Eve potluck where my contribution of boxed mac & cheese was cause for much rejoicing and I escaped the grab bag gift exchange with a much-needed winter scarf. Midnight Mass was nixed after I learned that getting inside involves queues reminiscent of a Star Wars opening, so I went to the Christmas morning service instead. Myeongdong Cathedral was built in the 1890s with brick, stained glass, and the works. In Europe, no guidebook writer would waste a keystroke on it, but in Seoul, it's quite remarkable, and I was glad I went as soon as I walked in. For the most part, I could have been anywhere--particularly Ireland, since that's where the priest is from--there were just a few subtle clues: the Korean women wore veils; there was no kneeling, wine, or hand-holding; and you "peace" people by bowing to them. I was fortunate enough to have presents--mostly socks--to open at "home", then off to another party. At this one, they collected money and did all the cooking, and it was something to write home about...so I am. Stuffing, tofu, vegetables, deviled eggs...and homemade applesauce. No bedtime snack necessary!

Sunday was a banner day. Met some friends for brunch in Itaewon. Itaewon is the international district, which means:
1. prices are double everywhere else
2. VAT is not included in said prices, like it is everywhere else
3. English is spoken automatically
4. You have to remember to say "Excuse me" if someone's in your way
5. It's easy to pretend you're home, just for a little while
We sat in the little "garden level" restaurant and watched Seoul's first measurable snowfall of the year come down. I ate a giant plate of phenomenal pancakes, covered in bananas, nuts, and ice cream. And way too much syrup (you don't pour your own). I felt kinda sick for hours afterward, but it was worth it. We moved on to What the Book?, the English bookstore, where I found a used copy of Gulliver's Travels. And the best part...requires some backstory:

Animal hats are big here. THE 'in' thing. Cats, bears, dogs, sheep...it doesn't matter. And whether you're 2 years old or in university (or middle school!) doesn't matter, either. Guys, girls, everyone is wearing animal hats. They're cute. They're quintessential Korea. The last thing I need is another ridiculous-looking hat....but I realized that if I wear it in Korea, I WON'T look ridiculous! Except for the fact that my head circumference is big by American standards, so in a place where everyone is already tinier than me--forget it. I tried one on in Gongju and it wasn't the ears and eyes that made it look dumb. Still, when I was downtown last week and saw the "wolf-in-sheeps-clothing" hat being sold by Paris Baguette, it was a very strong temptation. But the hats weren't for sale as such; they were a giveaway if you bought a Christmas cake (the preferred celebratory accessory in Korea). Prices went up from $20. Nah. As you may have already guessed, though, Sarah and Diana bought a Paris Baguette Christmas cake on Friday, and they gave me the hat! Good friends, they! It's awfully cute in my apartment here, but maybe I'll have to wear it home in February.

Monday was the last day of school--I've seen "Merry Christmas Mr. Bean" close to 20 times now--and the reward for us teachers was a free trip to a ski resort. Transportation, meals, lift ticket, ski rental, condo accommodation, and even a bag of snacks were all included. I spent the night in a palatial (by comparison) unit with 6 young Korean teachers, 4 of whom were afraid of me (though 2 were over it by the end of the evening). I wondered if I was foolish for eschewing free lessons, but after the first run, I got my ski legs back. After hiking Korea's vertical mountains, I'd been concerned about what skiing here entails, but there were a couple of greens (although they don't use that system exactly) and I managed not to break anything. Except for the hopeless English on the gondola signs (and a few other places: "please warming up before the skiing" was one of the better translations), it could have been anywhere.

The whole endeavor was billed as a "workshop", and the schedule showed a few sessions for "talking about next year" as Terrie told me. She also said, "Probably that means drinking," and it was so. Again, it strikes me how the differences between countries aren't linear...it's not that one is "more" than the other; things just manifest in different ways. We did have one short meeting this morning, where everyone pulled a slip of paper from a can, read it to the group (I gather they were bon mots about teaching), then got a wrapped package corresponding to a number on the paper. Generally, people don't know what to do with me, and either decide to be overweening, or deal with it by pretending I'm not there. I hoped the latter might be the case in this instance, but my "babysitter" for the trip prevented that. I chose my strip and, without once looking at the audience, read it syllable by syllable, and got my gift--a tube of toothpaste. With pictures of rice plants on it. Wonder how that's gonna taste.

Have I mentioned that Koreans brush their teeth every time they eat? I noticed that toothbrushes are always sold in a super-economy pack, which I wrote off as a cultural quirk, but now I understand--even if you're just one person, you need a bunch of them. One for home, one for work, one to keep in your purse/pocket, etc, etc. Not only does everyone brush after lunch, but if we have a snack in the office, they're all over at the sink afterward. I feel like an adolescent boy by comparison.

So I'm off to school tomorrow, with serious doubts about whether anyone else will be there. Even if they're not, though, I have "camp" for the next 2 weeks, and having only been filled in on this right before we left yesterday, I've got a bit of planning to do. Gotta make sure I remember my longjohns!

PS--my new camera is (hopefully) on its way across the ocean as I write, so with any luck, I'll have photos to post again before too long

Notes from Underground

Things I've learned on the Seoul Metro:

--If there's nobody on the platform it doesn't mean that you're going to get a seat on the train. It means that your train just left, and it'll be plenty crowded by the time the next one comes.

--If you get on the train, and there are a ton of seats, it means it'll be going out of service sometime very soon (probably before your stop).

--In a similar vein, I've learned to sight-read Cheongnyangni, the stop before mine, and look for it on the train's screen (if it has them). Whatever the time or station, odds are good that the first train that arrives is terminating there, so I need to wait for the next one unless I fancy a walk.

--Sounds: ringing phone-train is coming
classical dirge-this is the last stop
Mozart excerpt/jaunty jazz riff-upcoming stop...I've been working on distinguishing the pattern--does one mean a stop with transfers? something else? I haven't come to any definitive conclusions
blaring K-pop-someone's phone is ringing
tinny, mournful music-coming from the radio hanging from the neck of the blind person walking down the aisle with a collection plate
unintelligible Korean on the PA-???? Just do whatever everyone else does.

--Subway trains are a great place to buy cheap stuff. People clamber in with wheeled carts and give a little spiel, usually with a demo straight out of a 50s parody. In the summer, it was band-aids, household helpers, and other unlikely stuff; now it's almost universally stretch leggings. I actually want some. They look super cozy, and I need more long underwear. What am I waiting for?

--If Koreans are running in the station, you might want to step lively, too. They probably know exactly when the train is coming.

--Acceptable train activities: napping (Korean=narcoleptic), reading, talking on your phone, watching tv on your phone, fawning sycophantically over your boyfriend/girlfriend, making faces at babies, giving candy to young children, giving the stinkeye to everyone else, chinning yourself on the standee handles, trying to stand wherever you're not

--Seats may be scarce, but if you're on one of the older trains with metal seats during heating season, you probably don't want one anyway, unless you're wearing really thick pants.

--Old people must get off the train RIGHT NOW. Do NOT get in their way.

--There's a hierarchy to who gets the open seat on a crowded train. I don't understand it, but on more than one occasion, I've been handpicked via a tug on my jacket by an older person vacating their seat.

--The red seats at the ends of the cars are for people who are old, frail, or pregnant. God have mercy on your soul if you sit there without qualifying. Standing in that area is best avoided as well.

--Wherever you're sitting, there IS somewhere better, and you really should find it. If a seat opens up, it's best to move to it, even if it is more or less identical to where you just were. The spot at the end of the row is the Chosen Spot, for the Very Lucky.

--Any given car will contain: 20 businessmen, 25 students, one parent with young child(ren), 2 unaccompanied kids, 6 hikers with enough gear to thru-hike the AT, 1 waygook, 2 old ladies done up like Leona Helmsley, 1 old lady carrying a huge bundle in a pink scarf, 6 middle-aged women with shopping bags, 1 person who wants money from you for some reason, and 5 wild cards.

--When the doors open, it's every man for himself.

Gongju Getaway

After the nightmarish bus ride back from Daegu, I decided to stick closer to Seoul for my December escape, and the Gongju trip was an ideal weekend: perfect weather, interesting sights, and smooth sailing from beginning to end.

Gongju itself is a pleasant town, on a river, surrounded by mountains, under the watch of a centuries-old fortress. (granted, that could describe just about every town in Korea, but the effect is no less appealing) Its glory days were in the early Centuries of our Lord, when Korea consisted of three kingdoms and Gongju did time as the capital of one of them, Baekje.

In 1971, crews were digging in one of Gongju's hills for a drainage project when they discovered a cluster of tombs that turned out to be from the 6th century. Most were long-looted, although their structure still provided insight into the death and times of the Baekjes. The tomb of King Muryeong, however, was completely intact, providing not only a chance for modern historians to do some looting, but also important corroboration of ancient legends.

The outside of the tombs are grass humps, familiar to westerners with some knowledge of either Celtic habits or the Teletubbies, and familiar to Koreans as the form still used for graves today. The insides, recreated in a very nicely done exhibit at the tomb site, were impressively engineered, with crypt and arched entry of lotus-stamped bricks, murals of spiritual animals on the walls, and a ring of niches for lamps (they had to hope that the king & queen would head out for the afterlife before the candles burned out). I was particularly fond of the stone critter that guarded the entry to the tomb, resembling Haechi (Seoul's mascot) with a single antler tied to his head like the Grinch's dog, and proving that the Korean penchant for using cartoon characters in every conceivable (and inconceivable) context didn't start with anime.

The recreated tomb (as of discovery--no extant corpses) really enthralled me. My inner archaeologist/anthropologist could feel the excitement of finding something like that, and the allure of the story it told...the way things lay where they had fallen, the way they were direct, visible evidence of the existence of people that I can never completely convince myself were real. We hiked over to the Gongju National Museum (leaving our packs with the kind lady at the TI, who had us write down our names when we retrieved them) to see the relics, where I again felt the awe of looking at actual objects that were crafted by actual people 1500 years ago. Earrings, necklaces, ornaments for the crown, mirrors, shoes, head- & footrests, all decorated in exacting detail by people to whom they mattered. I envisioned someone dressed in all this stuff walking in to the museum and realized it would be terrifying, less because they'd be a ghost, and more because that getup would be so radical amidst the skin-tight jeans and day-glo Nikes and bear hats (themselves unsettling if I hadn't become completely inured) as to be truly freaky.

Speaking of freaky, the metal construction fence that lined most of our walk to the museum was decorated with murals telling what I assume is some sort of folktale. A man chases a blue rabbit, falls into a lake of some sort, where he is rescued by a bear with a cub. They all live happily together, until the man starts to dream of his former home and sneaks out one night to swim back across the lake. The bear is devastated by his departure, and swims across to find him, nearly drowning herself and the (now two) cubs. The man finds them unconscious on the beach, and there is a tearful reunion, but his expression in the embrace is cryptic. I tried to ask one of my co-teachers, but we got hung up on the concept of pictures on a wall, so I remain on a quest to discover the meaning of this.

The weekend's other highlight was a visit to Magoksa (temple). I'd almost axed it from the itinerary, as it's an hour's bus ride from Gongju and the temples do tend to bear a strong resemblance to one another. But Lonely Planet had high praise for it, Diana had never seen a temple here, and I was able to reconfigure our plans to comfortably accommodate it, so on Saturday morning, we made our way to the Gongju bus terminal and were off to the mountains. Unlike most temples, this one has not been recently repainted in a Fisher Price palette, making it much easier to appreciate its age (350). Its setting astride a wide stream, features like a two-story prayer hall (unusual) and shrine with hundreds of little Buddha statues (all different), and relative uncrowdedness all made it particularly pleasant and more spiritual than others. I would have been happy just with that, but I also got to hike a short trail into the mountains, walking through trees on dirt and needles, and meeting only a handful of others (one of whom pointed out a Buddha carved in the rock that I would not have seen otherwise). I don't know when the last time any of THAT has happened.

We missed the next bus for the sake of seeing an odd little park with all kinds of carved totems and statues, and buildings that look like they were inspired by Dr. Seuss. Unfortunately, with the dark LCD on my camera, I was unaware of its death rattle, and got "home" to find that only about 10% of the weekend's pictures turned out. I'm waiting for Diana to post hers so I can steal them.

A couple other random details:
We stayed in a typical Korean hotel, leaving our shoes in cubbies by the front door and walking around in provided slippers. The room was strikingly similar to the one in Sokcho, except that this time the heat was on. With a vengeance. I didn't have the blanket fully over me at any time, and it wasn't until the second night, when I slid my hand under the pillow and found it hot under there, that I deduced what the switch on the mirrored headboard was for. The bed was heated, too. I could use a little of that at home!

I took my big, woods backpack this time, and was pleased that although it was reasonably heavy, it rode quite comfortably and wasn't a burden to walk in. All the same, when the young Korean man offered us a ride halfway to the bus station, I accepted without a second thought. I'm sure that will horrify many of you back home, and indeed I probably wouldn't have done it back home, but it's routine in Korea. For every 30 people who unapologetically slam into me or insist on walking in front of me only to stop dead at a narrow spot, there's someone who goes out of their way to be helpful, and they remind me what Korea really is--a nation of preoccupied introverts who are usually pretty nice.

The Fabulous Adventures of Week (-36)

Danger! Danger! I'm starting to believe they mean it when they say I'm going to Jeju Island with the EEP kids in January. They bought a plane ticket for me yesterday, and today Terrie was making specific plans about who'd be responsible for which group. I chose 1A because their English is the best, so I'll be able to communicate with them, but it also means I'm in charge of Jeffrey Dahmer and the girls who never shut up. Still, Jeju is called "Korean Hawaii"...it's a bit of a stretch--it'll be plenty cold in January--but I'll still be glad to get there and I'm looking forward to doing something fun with the kids instead of just making them dread my existence. I wrote it in pencil on my calendars, and I've been wary of actually planning on it, but I'm getting frighteningly optimistic.

Proud of myself for resisting the allure of a Tony the Tiger mug AND a fleece blanket, and buying the cheaper cereal I actually wanted. Proud of myself for going to HomePlus at all...it's a very long walk on a very cold night.

Seoul has been extremely cold this week. (though I guess nothing like y'all in New York are getting) I had to turn on the heat in my apartment, at last. So the floor is hot most of the time, which is often nice and sometimes annoying. I have to be careful where I set things down, especially since I don't really have any tables, so the floor is the default receptacle. Not having a dresser is actually proving to be a plus. The only thing I don't get is that the bathroom isn't heated. With the size of my place, it's not as if it gets cold in there, especially since it has no outside walls, but going from the toasty main room floor to typical tile temperature is a bit of a shock.

The bathrooms at school fare no better. When I went in during EEP last night, I heard water running and noticed that the faucet hadn't been turned off completely. BOTH faucets, in fact. Damn kids...but wait. Fortunately, I avoided causing a major crisis by cottoning on that they were running on purpose, to keep the pipes from freezing. 'Cause it IS that cold in there.

The corridors, too, required some attention this week. The steel staircase and bridge on the temporary building gets a nice icing, so one of the pink & green construction blankies has been laid across, trading the security of not slipping for the very real hazard of tripping over the wads at either end. The water filters on each level also proved dangerous--lacking cups, the kids just turn the water on and stick their heads under...what they don't catch pools on the floor. I don't know how many people took an unintentional skate before someone finally salted the halls.

This week was the end of EEP, at least until the new school year starts in March. No more 12-hour days--yay! No more fat supplementary paychecks--boo! The school did allot us teachers $100 to go out drinking in celebration last night.

If I eat another rice cake, I'll gag. As high school placements are announced, jubilant parents are drowning us in the traditional Korean celebratory food. With the texture of Dots, the taste of flour, and the glycemic index of a doughnut, I'm not a huge fan. Actually, some of them don't taste like flour alone. The gift boxes come with a flavor variety, and they're a lot like Bertie Botts' Beans--some have chestnuts or other nice things; others you need to discreetly spit out FAST. I've got 2 on my desk now--one's been rolled in sawdust and the other is a seaweed green. I'm ALMOST curious enough about the green one to try it.

I've been having the kids write letters to Santa. Not free-form--I am learning something--but a fill-in-the-blank thing where they have to say what they want, why they deserve it, and what they're going to leave for Santa. Korean kids have Santa, but the rest of it is foreign to them. I had to explain that American children usually leave cookies for Santa to eat, and even with that, the stuff they promised to have out for him was a hoot: some had the general idea with ice cream or chocolate; several offered socks or cash, one wrote "love and a picture of me", and another thought a razor would be appropriate.

I wrote a lesson...and it was okay.

We are in the lame duck phase of the school year. Finals were last week, and winter break is still 6 school days, or 22 classes with Melissa, away. (not that I'm crossing off marks in my planbook or anything) The students care even less than before--that is, apparently, possible--but now nobody else does, either. So I'll be showing a lot of Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean in the next couple of weeks.

My original plan was to read The Polar Express to the kids. Fortunately, I'm showing signs of being able to recognize impossibly difficult material BEFORE I bring it into the classroom, so I limited that book to EEP evening classes, which are far more advanced. In good teacher form, I showed the kids the picture of a train on the front cover and asked them what they thought the story would be about (tricky when 1/3 of the class has seen the movie). Our little Dahmer's apprentice, a tiny kid who wouldn't recognize a pencil unless it was sticking out of someone's throat (and would have a fat file of psychiatric referrals if he were American), suddenly got very animated and answered my question for the first time this semester...in Korean. Another student translated his prediction, the gist of which was "murder in the subway". I ruined any chances of him paying attention by telling him upfront that there's absolutely no blood in The Polar Express, but the other kids didn't seem to mind. When I was camping with Terrie, she pointed out that the students are really still children. Though it's not top of mind when they're writing "fuck you teacher" on their worksheets, the point has stuck with me, and when everyone is listening avidly to a story about Santa Claus, shifting absentmindedly in their seats as I move about so they don't miss a single glimpse of the pictures, it hits home.

I got to share another of my Christmas favorites, in yet another lesson where my "supplementary activity" became the focal point. I finally had my first class with the low-level 1st graders, and the plan was to read The Snowy Day, then do a word puzzle about winterwear. En route to class, I decided to warm up with the winterwear--wise choice. One of my friends has been teaching this vocabulary to her 3rd graders (and here I do mean 8-year-olds), but that doesn't mean that my kids are all that firm on it. We spent the entire period on 9 clothing terms, and then inspiration struck--why not teach this to the other classes using the "can't put my arms down" sequence from A Christmas Story? I found it, cued precisely where I need it, on YouTube, and, miraculously, Randy wears exactly the items that I put on the worksheet! The only ones missing are a jacket and earmuffs...and Ralphie's wearing those! PERFECT!

The yang to this yin is that, instead of the 12 or 21 repetitions my lessons usually get, this one's a 3-and-out. Bummer. I had one great class with it, and was actually looking forward to the second, but I got there and the projector didn't work, so the kids saw the scene as if looking through frosted glass. But one class got to watch, actually laughed, then went through it a second time with pauses to identify each article. We made a list of them, dressed a stick man they named Michael Jordan, and they did their word puzzle. The way lessons are supposed to be. One great class. I'll take it.

100, and getting senile

My public is getting antsy because I haven't written in a while. Actually, it HAS been longer than I thought--a number of factors account for it.

This is my 100th blog. I feel like it should be a Good One, but nothing Good is springing forth. There's the one on names I've been meaning to write for 2 months now. The one about the subway that's been marinating even longer. It almost became an entry on why I miss my car, because that was top of mind a couple times last week. But I never got the focus and the drive to pick up the computer and write, at least not at any time where that was an option.

I've been writing a lot in other venues, too. Finally started the blog for kids I've been thinking of since before I left (find it at www.auntlissatravels.blogspot.com). "I want to travel with kids" keeps ringing through my head, and until I can literally do that, virtual will have to suffice. When I get home, I'll need to put some serious effort into the after school program idea that turned up a couple years ago and has steadfastly refused to leave. I do think it's my life's work, and it's time to get going.

These thoughts have also caused a profusion of journaling (not to mention converting this blog from a travelogue to navel-gazing rambles). While I like Korea, I can't honestly say I'm enjoying this, but it is having the desired effect of giving me a good shake. To date, this year gives every appearance of being the watershed I expected, and a ton of my energy is being consumed by sitting on the couch. Really. There's so much to think about and sift through, it's all I want to do.

I'm also reading two very thought-provoking travel books: Blue Highways, and Traveling with Pomegranates. The first, a classic by an amazing writer, making me want to mark passages just for their artistry. The second is a mother and daughter journey chronicle, and I'm unable to get through a whole chapter without reaching for my journal. Lots to think about. Not much to talk about. Unless you've got a while.

I thought I'd made it past the "three-month hump". I'd figured it would be somewhere around Thanksgiving, and when the magic 3-month mark came and went, I concocted a theory about having been away for more than 3 months already, so it actually should have happened in August, but that was when I came here, so that changed things, and maybe the doldrums of early October were all I'd get, blah, blah, blah. Right. I'm not at 4 months yet, and settling embers of homesickness have ignited again. Online chat has been a godsend, but at the same time it makes me tear my hair out; and likewise, the gift that is Skype is also frustratingly inadequate. I want actual face-to-face, sights, smells, non-verbal cues, the whole thing. I want to be & do with people, spend time in someone's company without talking, just have it be normal for a little bit. Time both flies and drags. It is still 9 long weeks before I visit home; 9 unbelievably long months before I get to stay there.

Despite my insatiable appetite for "cave time", I have been forcing myself out. Just spent the weekend in Gongju--full report to come; getting out of Seoul never seems to lose its lustre. Went downtown a couple times last week. It's all glitzed out for Christmas, and is quite cheery. Nothing can quite replace that red triangle in the building windows, but it does compensate nicely. Got to see what a Korean field trip looks like on Friday--everyone wandering to a museum within an hour or so of the appointed time, wandering around for a couple hours more, then calling it a day. One of the teachers didn't even make the kids stay with her, and I was specifically told not to. The last few months' context has made the exhibits much more interesting to me, but I was unable to enjoy the Korean War section thanks to a hustler who followed me like a lost dog, reading the placards and expounding at length (but not in depth). As soon as he pulled out a laser pointer, I knew--one of these people who hangs around tourist sights and acts the friendly local, then hits you up for money when it's too late to say no. I've read about it in other countries; I guess it happens here, too. Here are 2 random facts I did glean: The spikes on the "back" of Korean turtle boats were to thwart the Japanese navy, whose specialty was ship invasions. When they jumped on Korean boats, they got impaled....and....the "Korean War" is obviously not an appellation that means much here. It's their civil war, known as "6/25" (just like we say 9/11), the date in 1950 when Northern armies stormed into Seoul.

Reconstituted some refried beans for dinner tonight. They make me think of Grand Teton, where I made them with water heated in my JetBoil, and ate them on a log at the shores of Jackson Lake, enjoying a stunning sunset and watching a picnicking family nearby. I think wistfully of it because it was there and not here, but also feel an aversion to it as the time Before, when all of this was still to come.

Friday #(-37)

I just came within 3 points of acing Africa. My latest online addiction/time-waster: a geography quiz that requires you to identify places on a map. Some I'm utter rubbish at (provinces of Germany or Afghanistan, for instance), others (states/capitals of US or Canada) such gimmes as to be pointless more than once, but I've been practicing Africa all week, and thought tonight might be the night I get a perfect score. Which Republic of Congo is Democratic, and discerning Liberia/Ivory Coast/Sierra Leone still elude me, though. Reason to keep playing!

I'm having a night in. I've been a hermit all week, briefly considering inviting people to accompany me, but always dismissing the idea. Trying to decide if this is a phase, a sign, forced acclimation, or really nothing new at all. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe I feel like talking to someone right now. When you're on an odyssey, everything's a signpost. Some are irrelevant, but you don't know which ones.

We had a "workshop" for Dongbu's middle school teachers today. I love the Korean definition of workshop--an hour presentation, then a great big field trip. The presenter was one from orientation (half-relieved, half-dismayed it wasn't Nick)--I thought this guy was brilliant in August, but today the emperor was wearing cellophane. An avalanche of PowerPoints, techno tricks, and lesson seeds, all given in ADD order, is no longer very useful to me. I've got more ideas than I can keep track of; what I need now is guidance on taking one seed and cultivating it until it blooms into something that's not ugly and smelly. But this presenter gets a lot of mileage out of extroversion and charisma, and someone who comes by things naturally is not always the best choice to show another how it's done. Nor does it help that my colleagues at Hwigyeong view games, etc as a waste of time. While English Variety Show may in fact be engaging and educational, and probably just what the students need, my co-teachers ain't buyin' it.

So after an hour's edification, we piled onto a bus and drove an hour and a half into the countryside. Looking out the window suited me immensely, and I did so happily until they fogged up. Is it something inherent in Korean buses, or am I just not on enough American ones to realize? They took us to lunch at a traditional Korean place where they boil up beef soup at your table (bibimbap, sans egg, for me)--it must be some sort of conditioning thing because all the waygooks get fidgety after sitting on the floor for a few minutes--then to the English Village in Gapyeong, where I won't be going with the EEP kids this winter break (they're taking them to Jeju Island instead, and Terrie's the only teacher they're willing to spring for). Picture a mountain resort, or boarding school, or cult compound. With 18 different experience classrooms (store, airport, art, board games, and on and on), hotel for the kids (in America, we call them "dorms"), and barracks for the teachers, groups of 120 students can come hole up in the hills for 5 days to get a total immersion experience. There are expensive A/V setups, ovens in the kitchen (eliciting much envied murmuring from our group), nature trails out back...all kinds of evidence explaining why our schools can't stock chalk. If I were going to do a second year in Korea, this place would definitely merit serious consideration. What would it be like if I had a focused curriculum, engaging props, and grass & trees to walk with every night? Alluring enough to justify 90 minutes each way for every E-Mart run or museum visit? Another Deer Hill? Would I have boxes of the same lesson plan, typed over and over on ream after ream of paper? A moot point, 'cause come August, I'm headed home as fast as wings and wheels will carry me.

Our final stop today was Nami Island, or, as they style it, The Republic of Naminara. Manmade and site of soap opera filming, two things Koreans find irresistable. I've been finding them pretty appealing myself. This one is island enough to require a short ferry ride, after which I spent most of our allotted hour walking the perimeter. Contrived, certainly, but comfortable and enjoyable nonetheless. I shared the hard-packed path with bicycles, surreys, and other strollers, passing empty steel boat rental docks, build-by-number bungalows, random maintenance buildings (with at least one rooster on premises), and lots of foliage, albeit brown & dormant. The weather was ideal, sunny and seasonably brisk but without bite. Maybe it's the intense communality of Seoul, but hiring a bungalow and basking on the front porch in view of mountains and lake while legions of holidaymakers parade past the back didn't sound half bad. Placards outside listed the cost (anywhere from $70 for a weekday shack to $250/night for an 8-person weekend), and other features, including "Stationaries": bedding, toothpastes, and towels. It'd be charming. It was charming. A lovely day at work.

Uijeongbu

I had a pleasant surprise tonight. Actually, one this afternoon and another yesterday, too. First things first: yesterday, after racking my brains for hours over how to begin with my new first grade classes (the 3rd graders have ceased having subject classes, so in their place, I'm teaching the 6 lower-level 1st grades) and still not having a complete lesson plan, the English teachers decided that introducing me now would be too disruptive right before finals, so I won't take the new classes until the week after next. They also decided they needed extra time with the 2nd grade classes they had yesterday, so I ended up not having to teach at all. Good timing--I think I was fighting off swine flu, and was quite content to keep my headache and fever at my desk, where I didn't have to exert myself.

My lesson this week is on giving directions. I was afraid it would be too easy--I found a 5-street map in a workbook and was limiting the vocabulary to "go down the street", "turn right/left", and "it's on your right/left". In my lone class today, we never got that far. The workbook with the map also had some locating questions, ie "Where is the supermarket?"; "It's across from the bank." "Where is the gas station?"; "It's on Maple." Sounds like a good warm-up. I made a giant map to hang in the front of the room, and printed worksheets with the map and the 4 vocabulary elements, so everything was not only at the front of the classroom, but on the students' desks as well. I went through and named all the streets with the kids. I introduced one bit of vocab at a time. I asked, "Where's the bank?" and pointed to it on the map. I said "It's on Elm" and ran my finger up and down Elm Street, then pointed to the bank again. I had the kids chorus "It's on Elm" a couple of times. Then I asked individuals "Where's the bank?". Nobody knew.

But on to more hopeful things. On the way out this afternoon, Terrie asked me if I walk around and explore my neighborhood. When I told her I do virtually every day, she started talking about how she found a great area in her own neighborhood that's "old Seoul" (aka 1970s), and offered to take me for a walk there next week when we get out early. Cool!! That also reminded me that I'd once planned to set aside Wednesday nights for exploring different parts of the city, but have gotten out of the habit. But it's Wednesday, I had nothing planned, and after spending most of the last 2 evenings napping, I was ready to get out and see the town.

I unfolded my Seoul map and scanned the possibilities, but my attention kept wandering to the subway map. My original intent was to pick a random station and just see what went on in the area. I've done downtown to death, so I decided to head up Line 1 (where I live) in the opposite direction, and check out Uijeongbu, the terminus for many northbound trains, and one of the funnier names on the line.

It's not quick or cheap to get all the way there, but Uijeongbu is definitely going to be part of my regular round. At first glance, it looked just the same as everywhere else, and I thought I was a sucker for trekking all the way up there. A few minutes' walk down the main drag brought me to a huge Christmas "tree" (a la Liberty Pole) with multi-colored lights. It was a cheery sight, and though the green (or tan, this time of year) it's on is fenced off, 3 girls had gone in anyway and were laughing and taking photos, making it seem alive and festive. There was a park across the street, too, giving me a much wider view of the smoggy sky than I'm used to here. I turned the corner and decided to check out the library.

Behind the library was a large, hilly, treed park, with paths winding this way and that. Exactly what I've been looking to take my evening walk in for 3 months!! One path led up into the trees, passing the obligatory exercise equipment and some seriously cool playground stuff. There were slides coming out of a gaping frog's mouth, a snaking truck tire tunnel that must have been 20 yards long, and a rambling arbor with dozens of rings hanging on long ropes. I almost wanted to play with it myself. There was a climbing wall, and, though I've never seen a skateboard in Korea, a small skate park at the top. Behind the skate park--bliss!--were wooded hills. "Wooded hills"....completely inadequate words to convey the simultaneous elation and serenity of finding myself in such a place. An expressway rushed by just out of sight--not usually what I would wish for in a park, but tonight it was perfect. The place felt exactly like Tryon. I realized I've spent probably 1/3 of my time on Earth within earshot of 590, and the sound was actually kind of refreshing. I wanted to lose myself in the trees, stay in there forever, but, it being night, there was the chance of doing exactly that, so my explorations will have to wait for another, hopefully not-too-far-off time.

The highway wasn't the only unusual sound in the park. I walked the network of paths to the accompaniment of Christmas music, coming from speakers mounted on lightpoles and trees. Koreans abhor both nature AND a vacuum, so strive to make every outdoor experience as similar to a city street as possible. Thus, music in parks is pretty routine here. Apparently, there isn't a lot of Korean Christmas music, so I've had the privilege of hearing a lot of familiar stuff lately, and, somehow, walking through the woods with Bruce Springsteen singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" suited me tonight.

DMZ!

The DMZ is one of the major must-sees in Korea. The 2km wide strip of no-man's-land has been the buffer between North and South Korea since the war (sort of) ended in 1953. It's become something of a nature preserve, since nobody's been allowed in there for 50 years, and apparently, conservationist groups are poised to make it a protected area (in a different sense) the minute hostilities cease. Now, though, it's heavily guarded, heavily mined, and off-limits unless you're with a guided tour. My friend, Molly, and I went with the USO--pricey, but reputed to be the best by far.

I had to get up at 6, and roll into clothes, past the kitchen, and out the door in one fluid motion to get to Camp Kim, the US Army base on the other side of downtown Seoul in time for 7am check-in. Not good news, exactly, but acceptable. The real bad news came once we were on the bus and underway. Our tour guide, a middle-aged Korean lady with excellent, but heavily accented English, informed us that the slide show, supposedly superb, had been suspended due to swine flu paranoia. Then she told us about the "temporary" buildings, erected along the border so the two sides could enter from their own territory and talk. Normally, tours are allowed to go inside and step into North Korea, but we wouldn't be doing that because of swine flu. Next was Checkpoint 3, site of the axe murders in 1976, and vantage point into the DMZ and North Korea. But that's under construction, so we're not allowed to go there. So I've spent $70 (and I really mean dollars), and we're just going for a bus ride? Seems like the USO might have mentioned this when I signed up, but if my mantra for the year is "whatever", I guess I have to apply it to Americans as well (though with a little more bile).

We were greeted at Panmunjom Joint Security Area by South Korean soldiers in camo surgical masks. They let us through the gate, where the bus then had to zigzag, Nintendo style, through a gauntlet of concrete barriers, then let us all off by the gift shop to board another bus, which would take us and our American soldier to where the action is (or isn't, hopefully). The DMZ looked very pastoral, under brilliant sunshine and a gentle dusting of snow. Ringed by wire fences and punctuated by concrete barriers, designed to fall into the road if "the signal" is given. The chain link fences were full of rocks, painted red and white like Polish half-moon cookies. Soldiers check the rocks every day, and if they're out of place, they know someone's been rattling the fence. Photography is forbidden.

We started with the Freedom House, built for family reunions between North and South, but never used. Behind that was what everyone thinks of as the DMZ: blue buildings lined up along the boundary line, soldiers posturing and staring blankly from either side. Being too contaminated to go inside, we were allowed to take pictures, ask questions, and nose around, as long as we didn't a) go off the steps of Freedom House, or b) gesture/point/make faces at the North Korean soldier studying us through binoculars. Our American, Specialist Strickland, explained what we saw...that the South Koreans, in their taekwondo stance, were nose-to-corrugated steel with the buildings so as to present less of a target; that any movements we made directed at the North Korean soldier would be interpreted as mocking and grounds for an international incident; that the blue building belonging to the North is known colloquially as the monkey house because the DPRK soldiers make gestures and faces at the UN guys through the windows; and that the noise you hear when a South Korean soldier goes by is from the ballbearings in his boots, a holdover from a long-ago fight where the South Korean army was badly outnumbered and trying to make themselves seem more formidable.

We climbed a little pagoda next to Freedom House, our consolation prize for skipping Checkpoint 3, to look at Freedom Village. Each side has a small, carefully controlled, settlement inside the DMZ. North Korea's is reputedly empty, save for the blaring propaganda and the flag that makes Perkins' look like a postage stamp. South Korea's is inhabited by 219 people, all of whom have ancestors that farmed the area before the war, and all of whom agree to strict curfews and heavy surveillance in exchange for government subsidies.

After a visit to the Duty-Free gift shop, they put us back on our original bus and shuttled us to the observation deck. We sat in an unheated auditorium with a wall of windows facing North Korea and listened to the guide from the other bus unintelligibly narrate the panorama (photography forbidden). I did glean that the towers all along were for jamming broadcast signals that may wander over from the modern world, and that North Korea is completely defoliated due to heating with wood and the government eliminating places to hide. Methinks it may be more the latter than the former. The border is starkly visible, with the South as forested as a New England hillside, and the North more comparable to New Mexico. Outside on the actual deck, you can look through binoculars at the railing, or stay 15 feet back and hold your camera in the air to take photos from behind the yellow line. I did both...I got a couple good shots, and saw a person walking in one of the villages.

We went back to the rest stop for lunch and more souvenirs (and I learned from a Scotsman that I can legitimately claim to have visited 12 countries), then back again through winding mountain roads interspersed with fields of tall, elegant birds, to the Third Tunnel. Between 1974 and 1990, four tunnels were discovered under the DMZ, all pointing toward Seoul. The 3rd Tunnel, found in 1978, is about a mile long and 500 feet below ground. North Koreans claimed that the South actually dug it, but when drill marks and other details proved this impossible, they spread coal on the walls and insisted they were mining. Since hordes of tourists pay money to creep through it, our guide says it IS a mine--a gold mine for the South. Photography is forbidden. There's not a lot to see, anyway...it's a damp cave full of tourists bent over and wearing hard hats to protect from the low ceiling (mine did scrape a couple times)...more of a "guess where I am" experience than anything. They have highlighted all of the scores of drill marks with yellow paint, in case you have any doubts about the direction they point.

It was a good trip, though I'm still a bit frosted about missing the slide show and the chance to go to North Korea. Like everything here, I feel like I saw it in a bit of a daze. I may compromise my principles and do it again next summer, by which point one can only hope the flu frenzy will have faded.

The Road to Hell

Two weeks later, and still trying to blog myself home from Daegu. Part 2 was getting way too long, so here's Part 3.

And so I came "home", by myself because after I bought my bus ticket, Sarah stepped up to get 2 for her & Obi and there was only one seat left. If we'd been in the US, I probably would have tried to change my ticket, but I was too exhausted to play charades. My ticket was for 6:25 (even though there was no 6:25 bus to Seoul on the board), and theirs was for 6:40, so no big deal. I had seat 25, which I really, really hoped was a window. Obi'd had seat 28 on the way down, and it was the window in the back row, so it looked promising that 25 would be the window on the other side. Not so fast. The back row numbers go, from left to right, 26, 25, 27, 28. Whatever. I got settled in the middle. But nobody sat next to me. As we pulled away from the station, I moved to the window and got my phone out to indignantly text Sarah that there were plenty of seats on the bus. And then remembered that we had to stop at the North Daegu station. Where someone did, in fact, get on and claim my coveted seat. I was consoling myself with the thought that the elevated back row gave a nice view out the front window, when someone else came along and claimed seat 25. She was miming to me that I should get up, and I thought she wanted to switch seats, which was ok with me. This didn't seem to be the case though. I got out my ticket to prove my right to the spot, when she suddenly switched to perfect English and explained that my ticket said 6:25 and this was the 6:20 bus, "so I'm sorry, but you are wrong." I got up and the driver came back to see what was going on. He looked at my ticket and sent a torrent of Korean at me, or maybe just by me. And suddenly, I was That Immigrant. The one that just stands there dumbly when being questioned and ordered about. For a minute or two, he talked in a steady stream while I stood doe-eyed and expresionless, and then I caught the word "computer", and then a couple more times, and he seemed calmer and gestured to an empty seat by a window. I felt very fortunate. But not for long. Soon the windows fogged up, so it was like riding in a cardboard box. I traveled with Least Heat Moon for a bit, figured out the order in which I'd drive to all 48 contiguous capitals if I were doing it in 48 days, then dully wondered which layer of hell I'd achieved. The bus was stuck in mile after mile of Sunday-night traffic, the side windows were completely opaque, and every time I looked through the windshield, my eyes were drawn to the 25-minute-long segment on pig hunting & slaughtering playing on the bus' tv. It was a long ride. Kinda like this post. But it's over now.

Thanksgiving Art

What could be more American than drawing hand turkeys? These are capping off my Thanksgiving lesson this week. Here are a few of my faves from Monday (a couple are sideways because they're easier to read that way).

The Rest of the Story

I'm going to finish this thread if it kills me. And it might.

I need to make sure I properly rave about the town by Haeinsa, though. I'm not even sure what it's called...Haein, or something that starts with a "c"...I don't know; my map's not that detailed. Maybe it should just be called Eden. It was small and sleepy and ran down the side of a mountain...not sure if that's enough to make it wonderful, but something was right. I felt like I was in Pennsylvania, a good feeling indeed.

Luckily, we found an open restaurant. It was only 8:30 on Saturday night, but despite the bars and noraebang up and down the street, the place seemed to have pulled in the sidewalks and gone into hibernation. As will happen here, though, a guy outside his restaurant beckoned us in (and then sat and watched tv while his wife, who looked less happy to see us, cooked and served). Korean restaurants always give you side dishes, but it's usually kimchi, Grandmas-kitchen-yellow radishes, and maybe something palatable. At this place, the lady brought out a tray probably double the circumference of her arms, with a dozen or so little dishes on it. All were vegetables, and, other than the kimchi, there was maybe one that was awful! The worst looking option turned out to be the most addictive--I thought it was some kind of seafood, but it was tempura'd sweet potato skins. Mmm! We were seated under a painting of black pigs on a traditional Korean farm, the sort of thing grocery stores sold in the '70s; and a tiger in a black velvet sort of palette. Stuff I could decorate my stairwell with!

We walked around town after dinner, up into the residential section and through the dark streets. It felt like home, where people go to bed at night, and the gentle smell of fallen leaves hangs in the air. Wispy clouds dashed across the sky, leaving room for a kaleidoscopic view of vivid stars. The air had a late-autumn sharpness to it, and the rush of the stream by the main road was louder than any human-generated noise. Hugging the little town's boundaries, with fingers reaching in in spots, was thick, sloping forest. It was oxygen for my soul. I couldn't get enough. Literally. After Sarah & Obi headed in, I did another winding lap, pausing regularly to be still and drink it all in. I found the school (how would it be to be the native teacher there?), and followed the road that rose along its fenceline. It led past a humbler cluster of houses, and over a cement bridge, where I stood for a long time watching a trickle of water juke around flat rocks. Going home to Rochester seemed agreeable, but not imperative. Where else would I rather be than right here, right now? All the way back to the hotel, I kept tilting my head back, trying to stop time with those starts all above me.

Haeinsa itself was quite nice, if not as inspiring. All summer, I was perpetually on the verge of being jaded by rocks; now it's temples. Difference was, the rocks all had distinct identities. The temples are like Wegmans--not entirely interchangeable, but made up of all the same parts, and always packed to the gills. At this one, you could even get Dippin' Dots. Still, we appreciated the architecture and the statues and the stunningly sunny day. Haeinsa is famous for the Tripitaka Koreana, which is more impressive to hear about than to see. It's (they're?) housed in a building with slatted walls, and all you can do is look in through the slats and say, "Hmm. How 'bout that?" I'm glad I saw it. I'm glad it wasn't all Haeinsa had going for it.

All during our temple visit, and the previous evening, there were particles in the air that none of us could identify. Pollen? From where? Snow? It was cold enough, but again, from where? The sky was virtually cloudless. Yellow dust? It's known for blowing in from the Gobi Desert, but that didn't seem right either. We never did figure it out.

Eventually, it was time to bus back to Daegu (and the beginning of a stultifying 8-hour journey). In both Haeinsa and Daegu, we were hardly off the beaten tourist track, but were cognizant of a lot more staring than we get in Seoul. I think my favorite bit was on Daegu's subway, where late-middle aged Korean couple had a REALLY extended conversation about my convertible glove/mittens. One half-covered hand was clinging to the handle above them and they traversed the city puzzling out how it works. Of course, I couldn't understand anything they said, but their gestures were most informative. When, after several stops, they'd exhausted the subject, they noticed Lumphy peeking from my pocket. Wonder what's the Korean equivalent of "Hey, Marge!"

Speaking of which, we came up with a brilliant marketing idea for anyone looking to make a quick killing in Asian business. Snuggies!! I haven't seen one anywhere here, and they seem like the perfect fit. The kids already walk around school with fleece blankets draped over them. Snuggies would be the perfect marriage of gimmick & practicality. Marketing them here would be like selling fish to polar bears. And, according to their website, if you order one today, they'll send you a second absolutely free (except for another $8 shipping & handling...yeah, check the definition of "absolutely"). Who's in?

Ok, the Walnut Cake Bag

I've spent the week on the phone, primarily, so have not had the time to chronicle last weekend's adventures. Now, a trip to the DMZ has joined the queue as well, so in the interest of catching up, and being on time for my walk in Olympic Park this afternoon, I am eschewing paragraphs.

The background: Last weekend, I went to Haeinsa with my orientation roommate, Sarah, and her boyfriend, Obi. Haeinsa is one of Korea's 3 major temples (according to my TempleStay guidebook), and home of the Tripitaka Koreana, a huge set of woodblocks with scriptures in Chinese characters carved into them, from the 1300s. "One of the world's most significant complete Buddhist texts," says Lonely Planet. They have miraculously escaped destruction from fires and bombing 3 times over the centuries, and are stored in a 600-year-old building that has preserved them perfectly, more than can be said for the replacement that was built in the 1970s and abandoned when the test blocks quickly grew mold. Haeinsa is said to be one of the big must-see sights in Korea, and it will be closed for a recess year in 2010, so getting there was imperative. It's a 1 1/2-hour bus ride into the mountains from the city of Daegu, in the southern part of the country. So...

We saw a bunch of tombs by the highway on the bus ride down. I suppose Koreans must have cemeteries somewhere, but what I've seen in abundance is family plots, usually on the side of a mountain. The tombs are grassy hillocks, sometimes with a carved stone pillar next to them.

Korean drivers are insane! Whether in car, bus, or sometimes even subway, you get used to lurching, swerving, and horns. When driving in Korea, if you want to make a turn, you do. Even if you're not in an outside lane. Even if there are cars between you and your destination. It' s ok. This can be mildly alarming under normal circumstances, but I start to feel like I'm in a movie when the bus is passing cars on mountain roads, and it's even more remarkable to be looking over the edge of a short concrete retainer to an armrest-clenching drop and then feel the bus swerve and sway.

Daegu is utterly unremarkable. It pretty much felt like Seoul, but with more sky. I think the traffic is worse, though, and that's saying something. Being a Rochestarian, I can allow for charms that aren't immediately evident, but all the same, the place did nothing for me.

Koreans have a penchant for clustering like businesses. I first noticed this last week, when walking down a Seoul street that apparently specializes in prosthetics. Window after window displayed hands, feet, and other braces, most somewhere along the decay spectrum. There were a couple of shoe stores, which I speculated must offer deals on singles. Daegu is particularly prone to this...an entire block of auto mechanics, a mile of hardware, and so on, all through the town. I was pondering this with my friend, Diana, last night as we walked past 20 hole-in-the-wall restaurants in a row, all specializing in the same dish. Wouldn't it cut into profits? Or is it useful in a place where most people are on foot? I don't know.

The only time I've left town without a place to stay prior to this was when going to Sokcho with Ramsey, who had been there before and knew of a decent motel. In Daegu, we were all on our own. A Korean saw me looking at my guidebook in the bus station and asked if I needed help; when I told him I wanted a motel, he swept his arm in a circle and told me they're all around. That did seem to be the case, but we were baffled that every one we tried said they had no rooms. A street full of high-rises, all full at 4 in the afternoon? Maybe because there were 3 of us? We tried going in in various pairs--same result. Finally, one proprietor attempted to explain. All in Korean, so it did little good, until a man walked in who knew a smidgen of English. Fifteen minutes, 5 people, one phrasebook, and a lot of failed gestures later, it was established that to get the nightly rate at a love motel, you have to check in after 10pm. Until then, rooms are rented in 3-hour blocks. So checking in at 4 would mean paying for 2 blocks, plus the nightly rate. Aha.

About love motels: while undoubtedly handy for affairs, they're primarily for young Korean couples who live with their parents. They are also, however, frequently used by travelers (and frequently recommended by Lonely Planet and others). They're pretty much like a normal motel, except that they have indoor parking lots with fringe over the entry, are likely to be decorated in black and red, and sometimes have interesting vending machines or decorations. I haven't stayed in one yet, but probably will at some point.

We finally gave up on the Daegu scene and took the bus to Haeinsa. We were due to arrive at 8:30, and a tad fretful about finding accommodation. Sarah called one hotel from the subway station in Daegu and was quoted a price of $87--a lot for Korea, but doable split 3 ways. She gave them her name, but didn't want to make a reservation without discussing it with Obi & me. Once we'd purchased our bus tickets, she called again to make a reservation and was told the only room available was $150. She declined, and we were all a bit pensive about what would happen to us. Upon arrival in Haeinsa's little town, we followed the sign for the tourist hotel, hiking up and up through and out of town, getting turned away from a couple of little places until we arrived at the giant chalet on the hill. Inside, they asked if we had a reservation, and Sarah, in a moment of divine intervention, said yes. She gave them her name--no one was fussed that it didn't match anything they had--and they gave us a sumptuous room for $87. Which, split 3 ways, isn't bad.

We were beside ourselves over the room. 2 double beds, with MATTRESSES, carpet, a shower, sheets, closets. We scuttled about the room like cockroaches, taking in and exclaiming over every detail. After a flurry of photography, we collapsed on the beds. Further scrutiny revealed the room to be little more than a glorified Super 8, but it was super and glorious to us.

The room required putting the key in a slot to make the lights come on. Which the overhead one did as soon as the key was inserted. The table lamps could be turned on with switches, but went off when the key was removed. Come bedtime, we puzzled over this for a bit, before Obi discovered a button on the nightstand (along with the radio console) that controlled the overhead lights. Brilliant! I wish American hotels had that.

To be continued...

Notes from a Walnut Cake bag

The actual notes on the walnut cake bag are from my trip to Daegu and Haeinsa this weekend, but before I get to those, a few tidbits from the Monday that, at the time of writing, has not happened yet for you, Dear Reader.

--My co-teacher, Terrie, is reading a Bill Bryson book. It's translated, which makes me curious how much of the original flavor is retained, but it cheers me nonetheless. The bit she related to me today was about the French, and how they queue to get on a bus, but when it arrives, they mob the door, pushing and elbowing. Terrie was musing over how Koreans do this also, and wondering why they bother standing in line in the first place. This is why I like Terrie.

--I'm now a Costco Korea member. Stocked up on bagels and cheese, got some "marine crackers" to snack on at school, and snagged myself an industrial-sized pumpkin pie (and even managed to carry it home without incident). Also violated the "you don't get more dessert than you had dinner" rule I usually impose on kids, chasing a single slice of pizza with a huge cup of soft serve. Holly, my mentor, came with me, reminding me that, as the Holly Hobbie pencil case I had in 1st grade observed, "two is much more fun than one".

--I've been looking for a thin jacket to wear at school, since the distinction between inside and outside is really too fine a point to quibble over. I like my winter jacket, and I want it to last for many years, which it won't if I'm wearing it constantly for 4 months. I decided I wanted to pay about $30 for the new jacket, realizing that for that price, I may as well just ask Santa to bring me one. On the way to Costco, though, I passed a store called Crocodile (although I am SURE they're not trying to make you think it's Izod), with a rack on the sidewalk of fleecy, inside-out-Muppet style jackets. And, in a layer of miracles too thick to comprehend, the jackets were all of the following:
-colors I like
-warm, but compact
-sturdy and well-made
-NOT size 6X
-NOT covered in patterns reminiscent of 1970s upholstery
-$29
So I bought one. And have been wearing it around the house all evening. In fact, I like it so much, I think I want it to last for many years, which it won't if I'm wearing it constantly for 4 months. So maybe this will be my new spring/fall jacket, and I can wear my current, cheap, ill-fitting fleece jacket at school until it falls apart. Or I freeze to death anyway.

--I got a completely unexpected package today. One is never too old to be excited about receiving mail, especially when it is full of good things to eat and a really cool crepe turkey.

--Also got a formerly-expected-but-now-given-up-on postcard. It was mailed with a twin, which arrived last Monday, and after a week of ransacking the mailboxes, I'd decided it had been eaten by one postal service or another. These are the mysteries of the universe which we are not meant to understand.

--Taught a class today, for the first time in ages. Actually, "taught" is overstating it significantly. The 3rd graders had finals last week and have abandoned any lingering vestiges of diligence. Anticipating this, I planned to do a game with them this week. My one success with this was in annoying the co-teachers, who hate games; the kids were even less attentive than in the past, a feat which deserves recognition for pushing the boundaries of imagined possibility. For the 1st & 2nd graders who did speaking tests last week, I'm planning to teach them some animal-related idioms...ants in your pants, raining cats & dogs, horseplay, chicken, etc. This lesson does NOT want to come together, and I head into Tuesday with the PowerPoint only half finished. I think it'll be ok, though, and I have Terrie's support with this one.

--I have at long last begun reading "Blue Highways", which I bought at the Cortez library in June and have toted with me everywhere since. I love it. William Least Heat Moon is a gifted writer, expressing things so effectively, succinctly, originally, and delightfully, I feel like rolling on the floor speaking in tongues. I'd like to think I could learn to write like that, but if you have to work at it, you ain't got it. This is a book that demands to be read with pencil in hand, but is none the less enjoyable for that. As suspected, it's got me dreaming of the open road again. I'm once more plotting my madcapitals, 48-states-in-48-days journey of insanity, and, having left my travel notes & notebook at home, I'm creating the itinerary for at least the dozenth time. I've really got a winner, though, worked out on the interminable bus ride from Daegu last night.

Speaking of Daegu, at some point this blog was supposed to segue into weekend chronicles, but I've once again managed to clog up cyberspace with digital diarrhea...tune in next time to find out what was REALLY written on that walnut cake bag!

Time to crawl into bed with my road atlas and succomb to the bliss.

"Do You Carry Umbrellas?"

I'm giving speaking tests this week. I like it for two reasons...1)no lesson plans to write or classes to worry about; and 2)I sit down with every student in the school, one-on-one, even if it's only for a minute or two. The test itself is more like a memory test--the students have a few dialogues from the textbook to memorize, and I feed them the first line and wait for the proper response. Last week, the 3rd grade teachers had me sitting out in the hall, sending the kids out one by one. This week, the 1st/2nd grade teachers are inclined to have me sit at a desk in the front of the class--much warmer, but torment for the students. If it's quiet (which rarely happens), the students feel very on the spot. If it's noisy (usually), the student and I have a hard time hearing each other, compounding the difficulty for them. Think of trying to converse with your friends in a crowded bar. Now think of trying to do it in a foreign language. I wonder if the kids' scores would be better if conditions were different.

The dialogues themselves are not without difficulty, either. One for the 1st graders is "What does that mean?" "It means 'I love you'". What 12-year-old boy wants to say that to a teacher? (of course, they say it in the hall, so maybe I'm worried about nothing) Then there's "Can you return at 5:00?" "Pardon me?" Even after a couple hundred repetitions, I'm fighting the urge to repeat the question. And I've got the phrases running through my head like a bad song. Tell me you're tired and I'll reply robotically, "I think you should take a rest."

In typically Korean fashion, the test rewards rote memorization over practical skills. (though Terrie did say they tried to address that; they just couldn't come up with a workable alternative) I'm supposed to give a point if the student gives me an answer that's for another question, hence "You broke my new watch" "Never mind" is ok. So is "You lost my book" "Sorry to hear that". It may get you punched in America, but it gets you a good score here. My favorite mix 'n' match was "I'm from Busan, Korea" "I don't think so." (I don't think so, either, kid!) That question also elicited the best free form response I've gotten (which, fortunately, I can also give a point for), from a kid who otherwise was clueless: "I'm from Busan, Korea" "You Korean? Me too!"

Hopefully, I can make it through all these tests without coming down with The Pig. While I enjoy the chance to personally communicate (even if scripted) with each student, that's face-to-face time with a LOT of people, many of whom don't bother covering their coughs. The classrooms were ghost towns last week--the "short vacation" that was rumored to happen if too many kids got sick was abandoned when practicality interfered; shutting down schools would basically mean all of them, for a long time, and it just wasn't doable. I'm going to have to get vaccinated, or else face a week's quarantine every time I leave the country (4x, if all goes as planned, aka a month in my apartment), but apparently, I have to wait until after the vaccination of every elementary, middle, and high school student in the country, as well as all "weak" Koreans, before I'm eligible. I'll probably end up getting the needle at home, except it'll be all gone by then.

In the meantime, I'm making myself sick with Pepero sticks. 11/11 is Pepero Day, a Hallmark holiday where you give candy sticks to people you like. (One teacher told me it's people you love, but the class adamantly corrected her, and the sticks have been piling up around the office at such a pace that I think the kids may have even overstated it) Most of the sticks are somewhat smaller than a pencil; crispy cookie-ish substance dipped in chocolate...and sometimes rolled in nuts. They're awfully good--I've eaten several already and it's only 11:00. There are other varieties as well, everything from fat chocolate-covered wafers to massive gift packs involving stuffed animals, overflowing from every convenience store. Last night, a student gave me one in an "I heart New York" wrapper. (something else I've been meaning to blog about...that phrase is huge here. The first time I saw it, I thought the kid had actually been to America, but I quickly learned it's on bags, pajama pants, pencil cases, folders, shoes...Pepero wrappers. Maybe I'll get everyone I heart New York t-shirts for Christmas) One wrapper says "I'll be loving you forever, deep inside my heart." Kinda restrained for Koreans, actually.

Variations on a Theme

It's been a solitary weekend. I went Out last night (first time in Seoul!) to celebrate a friend's birthday, and had a good, long phone conversation with my uncle this morning, but otherwise have been completely by myself. Not for lack of trying either. The novelty and desperation have worn off, and people no longer jump at invitations regardless of who with or where to. So I adventured on alone, and it was a weekend well spent.

Wicked weather reports for Sunday moved my nature encounter to Saturday. I trucked off to Namhan Sansung Provincial Park, reachable by Seoul Metro (passing "where da green loyn intersects wit da pank", as it will forever be known in memory of my single phone conversation with Nick). And being on the subway means an opportunity to buy a bag of little cakes, shaped like an ear of corn and filled with yummy custard, and filling the tunnels with a smell WAAAY better than stewed silkworm larvae. Then to walk down a suburban street, which has much better connotations here than in the US (where, according to Wait Wait, New Jersey is changing its nickname to The Olive Garden State). Quieter, friendlier, full of yellow trees, it was a pleasant, if uphill walk from the subway to the park, where it was a tolerable and very uphill walk to the ACTUAL park, where it was a pretty and uphill walk along the old fortress walls, which I eventually abandoned because I couldn't find a map and didn't know where to get back down and was fast losing the use of my legs. In usual yin/yang fashion, the absence of both a companion and any useful navigation aids, the relentless incline of the cement trail, and the penchant of the Koreans for bringing things like radios to the woods and walking in what I'll charitably call a less than straight line were all trying my patience. On the other hand, the day was warm and rainless, the scenery was compelling, fall was in its full glory, and my new Korean hiking socks and boots were comfy and sturdy. I sat on a rock to write a letter and was, unusually, surrounded by birds of all descriptions twittering and being charmingly birdlike. It might be the most wildlife I've seen since the Lincoln Park Zoo.

I generally do quite well with solo time, often preferring to travel that way, but it seems that my tolerance for it is substantially reduced here. Or maybe it's that I'm fully stocked on it and don't need any more. As someone who has been known to ignore a ringing phone, I'm surprised by how bereft I feel without one. That oft-malfunctioning and intrusive instrument, with the power to restore promise to any day, is sorely missed in my little apartment. Instead, I leave the computer on for hours and hours, one ear perpetually cocked for the pop that means someone wants to chat with me on Facebook...inadequate substitute for a real conversation, but much anticipated all the same. Pricey cell minutes mean that phone is just for arranging meeting details, so even fellow expats use Facebook to just shoot shit for a while. Whatever the cause--no calls, no close connections, no cats--I find myself getting ratty and depressed when I've gone too long without hearing anyone's voice. I think, as I've said before, that that will be the nature of my year. High points, low points, fun times, moments of staring into the face of insanity, and all the while dragging a weight behind me that I may feel but won't fully appreciate until I'm cut free. I discovered a new Alan Doyle song on YouTube, about the Newfoundland diaspora, and while most of it is very Newfoundland-specific, the "punch line" (as it were) is "I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I belong." So poignant, it literally hurts.

At any rate, I was substantially cheered today by talking with my uncle for the first time since I passed through Springfield in May. He doesn't read this blog, so in giving a synopsis of the first 11 weeks, I was treated to fresh interest and insight, and the chance to distill my experiences into something easier to examine and understand. There was also another element I hadn't noticed missing before--immediacy. Blogging allows me to stay connected to far more people far more efficiently than I could do if I were trying to maintain regular correspondence with each & every one of you, but it also robs me of the give-and-take of normal conversation. By the time I talk with anyone, they already know what's going on here and it's old news. So I don't tell the story again, and the debriefing and manipulating of experiences into productive action is lost. But this post is deteriorating into a stream of consciousness more suited to my journal.

So it was with lighter heart that I set out for today's explorations--the Seoul Museum of Art (and Kyobo bookstore, but I never made it there). The art museum is right behind one of the city's palaces, and my timing was good...as I stepped from the subway stairs into open air, I heard the distinctive clang of a Korean band--time for the changing of the guard at Deoksugung. I watched the festivities and followed the procession down the alley next to the palace. I absolutely love downtown, and this was one more incredible spot--brick-paved, lined with a white, tile-topped stone wall, overarched with trees whose yellow leaves popped against the leaden sky. The drizzle made the colors stand out, and it was strikingly beautiful and soul-satisfying.

After blogging recently about how Koreans would rather eat mustardless pizza than speak English aloud, on the way back through this spectacular alley (having quite enjoyed the art museum--and the fact that admission was a remarkable 70 cents!), I was accosted for the SECOND time this weekend by a starstruck Korean wanting to talk. Yesterday, I got on the subway after my hike and a teenager bounded over with a carrying "HI!" worthy of a Texan. She then just stood there and beamed at me until I had the presence of mind to say, "How are you?" I ran through my admittedly short repertoire of pleasantries, then tried to understand what she was telling me--her enthusiasm outstripped her English ability. I'm pretty sure "you are beautiful" was in there--the complete lack of Korean self-esteem weirds me out a bit. I'm beautiful just because I have Western features? I don't get it. (incidentally, ALL the dolls at HomePlus are Western-looking) Another uni student standing nearby felt compelled to help when my fan was struggling to ask where I'm from, so then she got sucked into the conversation too. Finally, the girl went and sat down, but when I got off the train, she yelled "BYE!!!" and turned around to wave through the window as I walked down the platform. I've heard of Koreans getting rude and violent when people speak English in public, and I know they're not fond of making a scene...wonder how they felt about one of their own doing it.

Today's stalker was more subtle (and more fluent), although it started like a scene from a Cary Grant movie. Walking through the alley, she was keeping pace with me, neither passing nor falling back, until it got annoying. I stopped and turned around under pretense of admiring the foliage...and she stopped 20 yards ahead to do the same. I waited...waited...so did she. I started walking, she started walking. The thought that she was "following" me crossed my mind, but only in a comical, Scooby Doo, sort of way. Finally, as I caught up with her, I turned on the jets, intending to speed walk to a comfortable distance in front. At which point, she abandoned the coy routine and whacked me on the arm. She has a friend coming from Ireland and wanted to know what I think of Seoul and the food and what I'd suggest she take the friend to see. She was pleasant and fluent, and I can sympathize with her hesitancy to approach me. I know talking with a foreigner has a rite-of-passage aspect to it, and I don't mind doing it at all. Just getting a taste of how Bono feels.

One more thing; a confession to make. I ate at McDonald's. Just fries. But, the aggravating circumstance: I did it because of an ad. I was painfully hungry (the reason I skipped the bookstore. That, and I don't need/have money for any books. Just shows how addled my thinking was). A bus went by with a McDonald's poster on it. And it succombed. I did my penance, though, carrying that bag through the subway station like a walking stereotype. But, mmmm, they were good!

A Taste of RV Life

I have a Korean-style shower, or, in American terms, Winnebago-style. Shower, and the bathroom showers with me. The door has a large lip on it, and the floor slants toward a drain under the sink. All the fixtures are waterproof, and there's no point keeping anything on the counter. It's a bit of a nuisance, requiring significantly more choreography than the mindless showering I do at home. The routine:

--put toothbrush/cup in the cabinet, along with anything else that's migrated to the counter

--pull plastic bag out from between counter & toilet tank and cover tp (dispensers in Korea have a flap that goes over the paper for just that reason, but it's not sufficient)

--stuff hand towel into space just vacated by plastic bag

--move bath towel and hair towel from towel rack to outer door handle

--move washcloth from its place on the faucet to the towel rack

--array clothes and hairbrush within reach of door

This setup makes it impossible to adjust the water temperature before getting in. Fortunately, the nozzle detaches from the wall, so I can run the water on just a foot until it warms up.

--Shower. I initially thought maybe the water would stay isolated in one area, but I was very wrong. It goes everywhere.

--Try to dry off & do everything else I have to do without going in & out of the bathroom, because drying my feet every time is a pain. After the first time I showered here, I realized I needed a little mat outside the bathroom. The way the towel rack is positioned, I can't dry my feet and then hang the towel up without stepping back into the bathroom.

--Before leaving the bathroom, remember to reverse as many of the above processes as possible. Some, like getting the hand towel out, have to wait for surfaces to dry.

--Lifting the toilet lid means the seat will probably be dry by the time I get home from school. Likewise, squeegeeing the floor with my foot also seems to hasten the drying process, although I usually still have to dance around puddles in the evening. On weekends, I just have to take my socks off if I have to go later.

One might think this would mean I don't have to clean the bathroom. One would be wrong. It just means the whole place is covered in film.

Climate Control

November's come in like a lion (or saja, as the case may be), and it's been a somewhat unsettling preview of what the winter's going to be like. I thought traveling to New York in February was unusual, but doing it to keep warm might actually be a first. The last two days have seen temps in the 30s--my apartment dropped 3 whole degrees, to 68. I imagine I will eventually have to turn the heat on. But school? I'm going to need a wardrobe of hats.

I thought I was a fresh air fiend, keeping windows open until much too late in the season, then still having them cracked til I'm paying for heat and my Scottish blood won't allow it. For Koreans, however, there's no such thing as too cold for fresh air. I'd wondered in previous posts about the practicalities of an outdoor floor plan in a deciduous climate. Wondered about how walking outside to get to the cafeteria and most of my classes was going to be. Now I know--COLD. But, really, the trip to lunch is pretty irrelevant because the windows and doors in the school are all as wide open as they were in early September. Like a stubborn foreigner, I kept taking off my jacket, and worse, leaving it in the office when I went to class. Mr. Kwon asked me at lunch why I didn't dress more warmly ('cause I'm just a goofy American who thinks that a turtleneck and sweater is sufficient?). He also took me to task yesterday for closing a window in the hallway. I assumed it was open because students had been clowning around, but I guess it's just standard operating procedure. (The same thing happened in my apartment building, where I thought I was being conscientious by closing the stairway windows in the morning, but found them all open again when I came home) The classrooms, heated via refrigerator-like units in the corner, are tropical cocoons, while the hallways provide the counterpoint (and the bathroom might as well be an outhouse). Everyone just wears their jacket all the time. Our office tries to straddle both worlds, cranking the heat until oranges are growing, then opening the windows wide for a brutal blast. My llama gloves, though very cute, are a bitch to type in.

Happy Halloween!

I was just out in short sleeves for the second day in a row. The good weather entices me to take a walk immediately after getting home from school, and, on the whole, it's a much better arrangement than waiting until it's dark and I'm tired and pressed for time. Today's surprise was a good one--on the last Friday of the month, we get to go home an hour early. The idea is to give teachers time to socialize and "community-build", but nobody does anything together. So I walked over to a park near my school that I've been wanting to check out. The problem with green space in Korea is that it's all vertical. Not that I don't need the exercise, but it would be nice sometimes to just go for a quiet stroll. Nonetheless, for the investment of sweat and the possible sacrifice of my ability to do a Wing Chun set tonight, I got to trek among trees and magpies (and exercise equipment and carefully dressed Korean seniors). It wasn't totally getting away--it never is--with the resonant booms and growls of construction at the bottom of the hill, and the general dearth of wildlife, but I sat on a rock and even catnapped with my head on my arms, and it was agreeable for all that.

The weather's been pretty glorious, but that's about to come to a screeching halt. According to the forecast, things are going to change on the first of November as if required by law, with temps dropping 20 degrees, and only expected to reach 40 on Monday. One of my friends is going on a day trip with Adventure Korea tomorrow, and if I hadn't already scheduled 3 different things, I'd probably be joining her. They do run the same trips again and again, so I hope I'll catch them later, though this is the ideal time of year. I'm still hoping to get outside on Sunday, despite the dismal forecast.

Other than a few pumpkins & spiders in Baskin Robbins, Halloween doesn't really exist in Korea. The kids have all heard of it, and when I asked when it is, they invariably replied, "Candy!", but even the phrase Trick or Treat was completely new to them. As waygook domain, Halloween becomes a drinking holiday. I might be the only sober American in Seoul tomorrow night. I think I'm going to a music fest...if I stay home, I'll be at one anyway. Came home this afternoon to all kinds of commotion in the church parking lot (and it's still going on at 10:30)--hammering, banging...ultimately, erecting a bunch of tents and a stage. *Groan* It's "Love Fest". Details at 11.