Chuseok is coming. It's the Korean equivalent of Thanksgiving, and it's affording me a 4-day weekend (although, as expected, further questioning has revealed that I WILL be teaching some classes next week, so a weekend without plan stress remains a fond wish). I've been warned against traveling or expecting to get anything done, so I'm gearing up for a low-key weekend. Everyone on the subway is carrying boxes and wheeling carts--this is the time of year for presenting gift sets to your relatives. Fruit, soap, and tuna appear to be the hot items--$30 will get you 12 Asian pears in foam cozies, arrayed in a box, and I haven't checked how much it is to express your affection with stylishly organzied tuna fish cans. I passed a guy near the subway station carrying a Spam gift set, complete with matching bag. I didn't even think they HAD Spencer's in Korea.
As everyone prepares to celebrate the harvest, I'm feeling increasingly frustrated and desperate. And not just because of the pop music that plays all day outside my window. I just got back from another grocery shopping trip, and it appears I will be eating pasta for about 330 more days. I went to E-Mart tonight determined to find something else I could make for dinner. And came up completely empty. I've finished the kidney beans Ramsey gave me, nursing the can for 4 dinners' worth, and 3 taco salads (or approximations thereof) have just about depleted my supply of Deer Hill refugee dehydrated beans. And now I don't know what to do. I'm not sure where Ramsey got the beans--probably in Itaewon for $15/can. And I know there's no tempeh, gardenburgers, not dogs, phony bologna, or fake beef. There's not even peanut butter. Ramsey suggested dumplings, but rudimentary inquiries of the sample lady at E-Mart indicate that they all contain "gogi". I can buy tofu...but then I eat it with pasta. My body seems to be on to this, and is calling my bluff. 2 hours ago, I felt uncomfortably full and bloated after noodles & tofu. Now I'm feeling hungry & shaky. What will I do about it? Um...have cereal? Perhaps Costco can come to my rescue. (I'm already going over budget on groceries every week--just what I need is to buy a membership to pay inflated prices for imported food) In the meantime...I sprang for the $4 jar of spaghetti sauce.
And speaking of consumption, I also signed up for a cell phone today. I had the afternoon off, and thought it would be nice to have a phone for a long weekend of meeting people for this and that. I guess 1 out of 2's not bad. There were a number of free phones to choose from (a nice surprise). Some really did not appeal to me. One of them looked--and felt--like an '80s pocket cassette recorder. It even had buttons on the side. I felt like I should be shoving it in someone's face as I chase them down the street. Naturally, that was the one available today. The one that really called to me (another surprise--I'd browsed some phones in Seattle just to see what I liked and the result was "nothing") is out of stock, so they'll mail it to my school next week. Because of the holiday, it's going to take longer than usual. I considered taking the cassette one--after all, you can watch tv on it!--but after going 6 weeks without a phone--make that 33 years and 6 weeks--being stuck with one I hate for an entire year just to have it my hot little hand TODAY seemed stupid. So 'round about next Thursday, I'll have the one I truly want. A little uplift to comfort me as I start having to teach again. :(
Meanwhile, I continue to feather my nest via the "dollar" store (my term, not theirs). I've been twice this week, resulting in a mixing bowl (pancakes ahead!), a stainless steel bowl & lid for leftovers (which I really like--if it turns out to actually be all that, I may head home with a few), and a laundry hamper, along with mundane stuff like pot scrubbers, envelopes, and packaging tape. I'm very glad I noticed the laundry hamper--I'd figured to spend around $15 on a plastic one, but this is one of those mesh ones for $2...and since it's collapsible, I can even bring it home with me. I'm sort of developing a "dollar store wish list"...good God, what's happened to me? Trying to quell the urge to buy humorous wastebaskets for everyone. But if you want one, by all means, let me know!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
On Being an Immigrant
I may have to edit this post several times...it's one I've been meaning to write for weeks now, and it's hard to keep all the points I want to make top of mind. Especially since, as usual, I can't find the piece of paper where I've been jotting blog ideas. The bottom line is, I've gained a lot of sympathy and understanding for people who come to the US from other countries and act in ways we Americans think are inexplicable or insular.
First, let me say that if you're worried about threats to the hegemony of the English language, fear not. Imagine if all the road signs in the US were in English, Spanish, and French. Ditto for all the mass transit signs, airport signs, restroom signs, etc, etc. Imagine that everywhere you went, restaurant menus were bi- or trilingual, and so were many groceries, advertisements, and maps. All the signs in McDonald's and Brueggers were translated. Spanish was cool among the younger generation, and everyone wore t-shirts and hats with Spanish phrases on them. Now imagine that the US government was spending massive amounts of money to bring in Spanish speakers from all over the world to ensure that every American school child had at least 7 years of Spanish teaching. Some of these things are the case in certain cities. Koreans live with this reality every day, but show no signs of ceasing to speak Korean, despite their cities being maggoty with expats who can count off their Korean vocabulary with digits to spare.
When I made plans to come here, I assumed that I would be reasonably fluent in Korean at the end of a year. I realize now that that's highly unlikely. I haven't met any way-gooks yet who can do more than interpret simple signs and directions, and these are the ones who've been here several years. The reasons for this are many, the most obvious being that learning a new language is hard. Especially when it's really different from your mother tongue. People do it, of course, but it takes a lot of time, and you still have to conduct your life in the interim. Learning a foreign language in situ is extra difficult because your brain is so heavy with a deluge of new stimulus. When you can't even wipe your bum without wondering how, learning a whole new system of communicating is tremendously demanding. Talking is one of the most vital functions of our existence--we do it more than just about anything else, and use it for an incredible array of functions. In our home country, we have the luxury of speaking almost automatically, or worrying about "How do I best phrase this?" rather than "Can I phrase this at all?". To suddenly have to plan, rework, and devise alternate means of conveyance for everything you need to communicate is exhausting.
This, too, when you're already exhausted by everything else. Immigration forces you back to the early stages of your life, and the early stages of human history. You're a child again, living in a society where you don't know the rules, the mores, or the means of carrying out basic transactions. The world is a baffling place. To get anything done, you need someone to help or to do it for you, and the difference this time is that you don't have a mom who instinctively wants to look after you. You're also a caveperson again, spending a great deal of energy on meeting basic needs. The accustomed ease of mulling over eating plans, knowing where to go to make them happen, actually finding what you expect, and routinely procuring/preparing it is gone. Instead, you have to hunt, forage, devise, improvise, and settle every time you want to eat. Think of a meal you regularly make. Are the ingredients sold in this country? Where? Will you recognize them if you encounter them at a store? Do they taste the same? Do they have unexpected components? Are they considered a luxury item with a price tag to match? Do you actually have the necessary tools to prepare them? And what's more, what are the local customs for shopping? How are you expected to behave in the store? What rules and procedures are there that have never occurred to you? What services are available, and which cost extra? If all this makes your head explode, there are always restaurants. But those, too, have a list of questions just as long.
And these lists extend into every corner of your life. I still don't know if I'm sleeping between the right layers of bedding. I felt proud of myself last week for taking out the trash, but I'm not sure which receptacle to throw it in if I'm in public. When there are announcements in public places, I can't act on the information unless someone mimes for me what to do. I can't ask questions about anything I buy, nor can I read ingredients. Communicating non-routine needs to a cashier is nearly impossible, telling a taxi driver where I live is fraught with complication, and calling any establishment for information is simply not an option. At work, I'm limited to rudimentary conversation with my co-workers, and I'm often a source of levity for them--sometimes I know why, sometimes not. On top of all this (and realizing that I've likely forgotten several of my favorite examples), simply everything is unfamiliar. I'm surrounded by new faces, new styles, new sounds, new tastes, and new expectations, and I have none of my usual refuges available. It wears me out.
Being around other Americans is relieving. For that amount of time, I can speak without thinking (as it were), share frames of reference, seek and give assistance, feel confident that I'm behaving acceptably, appear intelligent, and make my needs known. I can connect with my identity.
I can also appreciate the need to keep that identity alive if I were to stay here long-term (don't worry, Mom, I'm not going to). If, in some parallel universe, I married a Korean man and had Korean children, and made a home in Korean society, America would still be important to me. I would want to speak English to my children. I would want them to know what Thanksgiving was like, and how peach pie tastes, and what to do with a fork & knife. I would want to sing the songs I know with them and read them my favorite books, and serve them grilled cheese or peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. I would want to decorate for Halloween and maybe even have a carpet. No matter how assimilated I got, there would still be things in America that I loved and missed and wished for. It wouldn't be a slap in the face of Korean culture, it would be an acknowledgement of the things I've valued and enjoyed for decades.
And so too for the immigrants in the United States.
First, let me say that if you're worried about threats to the hegemony of the English language, fear not. Imagine if all the road signs in the US were in English, Spanish, and French. Ditto for all the mass transit signs, airport signs, restroom signs, etc, etc. Imagine that everywhere you went, restaurant menus were bi- or trilingual, and so were many groceries, advertisements, and maps. All the signs in McDonald's and Brueggers were translated. Spanish was cool among the younger generation, and everyone wore t-shirts and hats with Spanish phrases on them. Now imagine that the US government was spending massive amounts of money to bring in Spanish speakers from all over the world to ensure that every American school child had at least 7 years of Spanish teaching. Some of these things are the case in certain cities. Koreans live with this reality every day, but show no signs of ceasing to speak Korean, despite their cities being maggoty with expats who can count off their Korean vocabulary with digits to spare.
When I made plans to come here, I assumed that I would be reasonably fluent in Korean at the end of a year. I realize now that that's highly unlikely. I haven't met any way-gooks yet who can do more than interpret simple signs and directions, and these are the ones who've been here several years. The reasons for this are many, the most obvious being that learning a new language is hard. Especially when it's really different from your mother tongue. People do it, of course, but it takes a lot of time, and you still have to conduct your life in the interim. Learning a foreign language in situ is extra difficult because your brain is so heavy with a deluge of new stimulus. When you can't even wipe your bum without wondering how, learning a whole new system of communicating is tremendously demanding. Talking is one of the most vital functions of our existence--we do it more than just about anything else, and use it for an incredible array of functions. In our home country, we have the luxury of speaking almost automatically, or worrying about "How do I best phrase this?" rather than "Can I phrase this at all?". To suddenly have to plan, rework, and devise alternate means of conveyance for everything you need to communicate is exhausting.
This, too, when you're already exhausted by everything else. Immigration forces you back to the early stages of your life, and the early stages of human history. You're a child again, living in a society where you don't know the rules, the mores, or the means of carrying out basic transactions. The world is a baffling place. To get anything done, you need someone to help or to do it for you, and the difference this time is that you don't have a mom who instinctively wants to look after you. You're also a caveperson again, spending a great deal of energy on meeting basic needs. The accustomed ease of mulling over eating plans, knowing where to go to make them happen, actually finding what you expect, and routinely procuring/preparing it is gone. Instead, you have to hunt, forage, devise, improvise, and settle every time you want to eat. Think of a meal you regularly make. Are the ingredients sold in this country? Where? Will you recognize them if you encounter them at a store? Do they taste the same? Do they have unexpected components? Are they considered a luxury item with a price tag to match? Do you actually have the necessary tools to prepare them? And what's more, what are the local customs for shopping? How are you expected to behave in the store? What rules and procedures are there that have never occurred to you? What services are available, and which cost extra? If all this makes your head explode, there are always restaurants. But those, too, have a list of questions just as long.
And these lists extend into every corner of your life. I still don't know if I'm sleeping between the right layers of bedding. I felt proud of myself last week for taking out the trash, but I'm not sure which receptacle to throw it in if I'm in public. When there are announcements in public places, I can't act on the information unless someone mimes for me what to do. I can't ask questions about anything I buy, nor can I read ingredients. Communicating non-routine needs to a cashier is nearly impossible, telling a taxi driver where I live is fraught with complication, and calling any establishment for information is simply not an option. At work, I'm limited to rudimentary conversation with my co-workers, and I'm often a source of levity for them--sometimes I know why, sometimes not. On top of all this (and realizing that I've likely forgotten several of my favorite examples), simply everything is unfamiliar. I'm surrounded by new faces, new styles, new sounds, new tastes, and new expectations, and I have none of my usual refuges available. It wears me out.
Being around other Americans is relieving. For that amount of time, I can speak without thinking (as it were), share frames of reference, seek and give assistance, feel confident that I'm behaving acceptably, appear intelligent, and make my needs known. I can connect with my identity.
I can also appreciate the need to keep that identity alive if I were to stay here long-term (don't worry, Mom, I'm not going to). If, in some parallel universe, I married a Korean man and had Korean children, and made a home in Korean society, America would still be important to me. I would want to speak English to my children. I would want them to know what Thanksgiving was like, and how peach pie tastes, and what to do with a fork & knife. I would want to sing the songs I know with them and read them my favorite books, and serve them grilled cheese or peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. I would want to decorate for Halloween and maybe even have a carpet. No matter how assimilated I got, there would still be things in America that I loved and missed and wished for. It wouldn't be a slap in the face of Korean culture, it would be an acknowledgement of the things I've valued and enjoyed for decades.
And so too for the immigrants in the United States.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
1000 Words=A Picture
It's another night at home by myself, but I'm gearing up for a wild weekend. My district has a training session after school tomorrow, where they'll give me a mentor (here's hoping she's helpful!), then I have a party to go to; plans to see a palace (which I may put off...we'll see) and check out Seoul Drum Festival on Saturday; hike & shopping on Sunday. And 2 Skype calls scheduled to folks at home. I got on Skype this week, and it is a wonderful thing. Free internet-to-internet, 2 cents/minute if you want to call a phone. And chatting--I've actually never chatted online before. Bantering with my loved ones is so nice, and the time just flies; I really have to be vigilant that I don't live on the computer. I'm going to wear this thing out!
I'm finishing up a week of teaching personality adjectives and shopping vocabulary. It seems so limiting to teach just one phrasing for every situation, but any more than that is just overload. After my first class on Monday, I halved the vocabulary list, and it still feels like I'm flying through it. I hope I'm not just teaching vocab all the time...it's about the driest thing you can do. For shopping, we focused on "Do you have any _______?", "In aisle 7 (or whatever)", and "How much is this?" For personality, we covered optimistic, pessimistic, generous, selfish, bossy, stubborn, confident, responsible, loyal, curious, artistic, and honest. I doubt they'll retain much, but I suppose any exposure increases receptivity later. The 9th graders don't give a damn and keeping the room quiet enough for me to be heard at all is a losing battle. If I were a bit more experienced, I'd want to be involved in curriculum development. I don't know how things go in elementary school, but the middle school syllabus is so scattershot, it's amazing the kids know anything.
I found a small version of E-Mart down the street from me tonight. I still think I prefer HomePlus, but being able to walk there easily counts for a lot. And for $5, I can have my own bag of Peanut M&Ms. It might be worth it. Although I got paid today, and while it's true there is no tax, there are an insane amount of other deductions. I'm wondering if I'll actually have enough money to do anything at all this year. Anyway, I'm hoping to stay true to my convictions and shop at local groceries where possible. The thing I like best about E-Mart and Home Plus is that they put prices on everything. Once I have a sense of what things cost, maybe I'll have more confidence in getting things around the corner. It's still really hard to buy food when I don't know what any of it is, and can't read the directions to prepare it, but that's a topic I want to cover more in-depth in another post. Got some broccoli tonight, more cereal, and a big box of marshmallow pies that came with a bonus box of chocolate ones. Had one for dessert and they're actually really good...many sweets are a disappointment because they don't taste the way I expected them to. Also picked up a package of Post-It flags and made a graphic representation on my fridge of how long I'll be here, one flag for every week. I have to see things to get my head around them, and this will give me a tangible way of marking time. I've been here an entire month already! Incredible.
So, anyway, here's another collection of observations, in no particular order (or maybe the order in which I find the scraps of paper I wrote them on):
I see now why blond kids get so much attention in Asia. A cute, blond boy of around 7 was coming down the stairs at the subway station the other day. It took a few moments for me to realize why I was staring at him.
"Gook" (spelled phonetically) in Korean means "country". "Way gook" is any foreigner; "me gook" is an American. The ethnic slur comes from American soldiers who heard the Koreans saying this often.
Pale skin is considered beautiful here. Women go to all kinds of lengths to avoid sunlight--you'll see them with umbrellas or holding up papers; I saw one girl whose boyfriend was walking with his hands shielding her face. Old ladies wear white foundation; it looks just as ghastly as the old ladies in the US who put their makeup on with a putty knife.
Korean adults don't do shorts much. In fact, they seem to dress without much regard for the weather, and you'll even see little kids in long sleeves when it's 85 degrees and insanely muggy. They have fancy outfits for hiking that they wear year round, so when I'm dissolving in a pool of sweat with bare arms & legs, they're in black pants, long-sleeved pullovers, and scarves. These are always immaculate, and the women have their makeup done, too.
A sound I'm getting used to is the vegetable trucks with PAs. It must be a recording because they all sound the same, but they drive around in tiny blue pickups with their message blaring.
There's some kind of ROTC or something training in my area...probably connected with the university. Suddenly, there are soldiers everywhere, and I hear them shouting and drilling and slamming doors on their troop wagons just outside. They line up on the steps of the mega-church outside my window. Military service is compulsory in Korea...maybe they're new recruits.
All in all, I'm glad I look different. People instantly understand why I'm clueless, and are generally pretty helpful. When I was struggling to explain the problem with my alarm clock at the HomePlus customer service counter, a 20something Korean woman stopped and translated for me. Last night on the subway, the train I was on was going out of service, but of course the announcement meant nothing to me. An old lady with a bag of chestnuts beckoned to me as she exited; I was a bit slow on the uptake but the penny dropped when a younger guy started waving me out, too. I suppose I would have figured it out when all the lights went off, but it's nice that they were thinking of me.
My proximity to biker bars in Rochester means I deal with a lot of loud pipes...and interrupted phone conversations, missed television/radio dialogue, bolting cats. Here, they don't have Harleys, but a plethora of these bikes that sound like a jackhammer in a well. I may have a different outlook on those Harleys by the time I hear them again.
You see pictures of people wearing face masks in Asia, and it's true. You can buy masks with floral designs or smiley faces, or cartoon characters for the kids, even tiny ones with bears and things for your baby. I got one as a promotional item the other day, the way American companies might hand out pens or bottle openers.
I knew Korea was on the metric system, but I didn't realize that the unit "dozen" is meaningless here. Eggs come in packs of 10 or 15. Dunkin' Donuts is everywhere, but if you want a box, it means 10. And speaking of unquestioned paradigms, you get paid on the same date of the month regardless of the day on which it falls. I keep trying to make my paydays all Friday, but they're not.
The hardest thing about being a vegetarian here (other than not having much to eat) is not being able to try all the awesome street food available. They've got these corn dogs with french fries in the batter that I'm just dying to taste.
I have a weakness for subways. I was thoroughly smitten with the London Underground, and expected that to be the case here as well. While I more or less enjoy riding the subway, I have none of the attachment and affection I felt for the Tube, or the excitement of riding in Toronto, New York, or Paris. Not sure whether that's an era in my life that's passed, or if it's the soullessness of the Seoul Metro. The trains are generic and there's nothing interesting about the stations...no incredible tile work, no wooden escalators, no bricked-over steam vents. And there's no point playing "spot the rat", my favorite waiting game. It's just very functional.
Wedding halls are absolutely everywhere, and the architecture is a marriage of Cinderella's castle and the Haja Sofia. They're monstrous and can be spotted from a significant distance. They make good navigation aids. I have to remember to take photos of random stuff like that.
I keep thinking I'll post more fractured English, but the phrases are so nonsensical that they're tricky to remember. I see weird statements on t-shirts just about daily. I did discover today that the cracker "sand" I bought when I was first here was not a fluke...you can get all kinds of "sand" at E-Mart. I don't know whether the "wich" was too hard to transliterate or if it was simply forgotten. My award for this month, though, goes to the male university student I saw on the subway, wearing a baseball cap and tattered jeans and cool in every way, except that his t-shirt said "If you think I'm cute, you should see my mommy."
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Lemonade again, etc.
Tonight actually turned out quite nice. I've spent the last couple evenings close to home and wanted to get out today, but my suggestion yielded no takers. Wasn't really sure where I wanted to go, debated doing nothing, but after an hour or so at home I couldn't stand it any more. So I opened my Seoul map, picked a spot downtown that I haven't been yet, threw a few things into my backpack, and off I went. I decided I would walk around between City Hall and the Myeongdong area (there's a European-style cathedral, among other things, that seemed worth checking out), and was still debating where I'd get off the subway as I rode. When I got to the City Hall stop, however, I walked in the opposite direction.
In London, I was under some sort of Chinese food curse--whenever I decided to get a takeaway, the Chinese restaurants all disappeared. Here, it seems to be a pizza curse. I've been hankering for pizza since the first week, but haven't had one yet. A big part of this is poor decision making. Every time I'm thinking of getting pizza, I go downtown, where it's touristy and expensive. And then just can't bring myself to spend $14 or more for something I can get for $7 in my own neighborhood. I was considering it, though, and actually walked into a Mr. Pizza, figuring overpaying was better than walking around hungry and unhappy. Their pizzas, however, are $23. No way.
A couple hundred yards down the street, however, was the New York Deli stand, with a takeout window and a translated menu. 3-cheese sandwich? I'll do it! And throw in an order of banana toast...I don't know what it is, but how can you go wrong? The guy spoke really good English (although I still muttered rather dumbly at him--I feel like a creep coming to Korea and waiting for the natives to speak my own tongue to me), and he gave me half of a huge nectarine to eat while I waited...mmm, mmm good! I carried my food to the Cheonggyecheon, one of my favorite places in Seoul. Parked myself next to the stream and enjoyed my dinner. The comforting indulgence of spongy white bread has worn off. I'm ready for some real stuff (and have to wonder why I balk at paying more than 1100 won for a loaf of bread when I spend $3 or more at home to get good stuff). They did a nice job with the sandwich, though, and the banana toast was a delight--like a banana sandwich, cut into 9ths with a dollop of cream and a dab of chocolate sauce on each piece. Gotta go back for more of that!
Sat by the stream longer than I intended. I love the running water, and, unlike my neighborhood, which just feels noisy and seedy, the busy-ness of downtown feels vibrant and exciting. A busker sang John Denver songs, and was good enough that I dropped some money in his collection box. I was tired by this point, and ready to head home, but thought I'd just take a quick walk around the cool gardens I saw on my first day here. Turns out they were having a free outdoor concert. Sat and watched a symphonic band play Champs Elysees and a song I heard on I Love Lucy. It was just exactly what I wanted to be doing. Listened to the whole concert and wanted to stay out longer, but it is a school night. I'll have to make a night out part of my regular routine. 48 weeks of exploring the city piece by piece should take me pretty far.
Other stray events:
My co-teacher asked me today how my classes were going. I told her it gets better all the time, but I still need to fix something because the students aren't interested. She said even if I do fix something, the students are not likely to ever be interested. I'm wondering whether to concede this. There are maybe 3 in each class who pay attention because they are the dutiful type, and the rest range from out of control to comatose. I have not yet exhausted all of my considerable ingenuity, as Dumbledore would put it, but have been in this world long enough to have a measure of realism. So what CAN I do? How do I walk the line between cynical resignation and touching optimism?
I finished The Watsons Go To Birmingham-1963, a superb childrens' book that I've been meaning to read for a few years. I highly recommend it for all ages, although if your kid reads it, be ready for some heavy discussion. It's the story of a black family in Flint, MI, who drive to Alabama to visit their grandmother and are there for the church bombing that actually happened. There are 15 chapters in the book, and the bombing doesn't happen until Chp 14, so there's a lot of regular kids' book before it gets intense. And even then, the author crafts it very skillfully, so you only have to deal with as much as you can understand. He does a great job getting inside the head of Kenny, the 10-year-old narrator, and framing things as a kid would interpret them. The language is a delight, and the first 13 chapters are a funny and fun read. The last two are really well done--it's easy to see why this book became an instant classic, widely read in American elementary schools. Next up was going to be Blue Highways, one of my reading list selections (and one of my Cortez library sale finds), but I'm leaning toward Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows instead. I haven't read it since it was released 2 years ago (when I stayed up half the night in the Downtown Hostel, then spent the entire next day moving from bench to bench in Bowring Park in St. John's), so I'm eager to get back into it and see what I missed. It's almost--almost--like having a new Harry Potter to enjoy.
And speaking of St. John's...I was thinking again tonight that I really liked everything I did, but having someone along to talk to and enjoy it with would have added a measure of real joy, and sent me home with a bit of a buzz on. The old love=happiness equation. But I keep thinking of Newfoundland and how that just screws everything up. I was all alone all over that island--twice--but still had plenty of buzz. I was smitten, joyous, delighted, enraptured, and any other word you can think of. Makes me wonder about past lives, cosmic energy, and forces beyond our ken. Of course I set to work straightaway on getting others to come back with me, so maybe it wasn't that far outside the paradigm after all. Anyone wanna go to Newfoundland in a year or two?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Hard & The Easy
I've been wanting to do a "what I've been up to" post, but can't seem to gather my thoughts enough to make it happen. Decided today would be the day. Now there are Korean men all over my apartment drilling holes and opening cupboards. Not sure what half the stuff is for. At least I'm here; I'd be slightly weirded out if I came home and found all this. The perils of a brand-new apartment.
Ever so slowly, I feel like I'm settling in. Still feel large amounts of dread on my way to school in the morning, but classes aren't that bad. I'm still pretty inept, but also feel like the first light of dawn is appearing in my mind. I can do this, and do it well, I just don't know how yet. My lessons this week are not exciting, but (with a little help from my friends) they are fairly focused and possibly even useful. Besides refining my lesson-writing, I need to learn to deal with exceptions. I scrapped the plan for one class today and gave them dictation because their behavior was so awful. I don't really foresee this changing much, though, so will need an effective way of dealing with it in future. It's the age-old problem--it's not fair to the kids who do want to learn to have them on "punishment plans" all the time, but carrying on in the midst of a cafeteria atmosphere is annoying and difficult for everyone, and it makes me look like a buffoon. Then there's also the issue of the really good classes--I'd like to do something really engaging with them--and having a stable of good activities for when the lesson's done before the class period is. On top of it all, I'd like to be more "ahead of the beat"...having priorities and addressing them rather than teaching the arbitrary language feature I'm assigned each week. I want to work more pronunciation practice into my plans, since that's the most significant point of difference between me and the Korean teachers.
On a more fun note, I got the heck out of Seoul this past weekend--much sooner than I'd expected to. Lonely Planet says precious little about Sokcho, and I had my objectives lined up accordingly...use Sokcho as a gateway and get into Seoraksan National Park as quickly as possible. Fortunately, that's not what happened. Sokcho is certainly not glamorous, but there's enough to do there to make it a destination in its own right, and it's immensely likeable. Maybe a little like Rochester. All Ramsey & I kept saying was how good it felt to be there. It's quieter, smaller, more personable, more open than Seoul. You can cross the street without a light. People kept stopping to talk to us and give us directions, and one lady, when she heard we wanted to go to the beach, just gave us a ride. There was some kind of street party going on--the main street was closed to traffic and lined with booths and people were singing and hamming it up on a big stage while a crowd in plastic chairs clapped and hooted. Add some blond hair and it could have been Iowa. Teaching there would mean sacrificing some of the expat support network, but maybe that wouldn't be so bad...it definitely seemed a place I could live. Like NYC I suppose, Seoul is a fun adventure, and obviously people do make a life there, but it's a bit too jarring for me to deal with on a permanent basis. Plus, set between dramatic mountains and a real sand beach with waves, Sokcho is awfully inviting.
The practicalities of the trip were a piece of cake, too. Buses leave from Seoul every 15 minutes, so you can show up at the terminal whenever and be on your way almost immediately. The ticket is the equivalent of $13 (it's approximately a 3-hour trip), the bus is comfy, the drive is scenic, and it's all rather enjoyable. As far as accommodation, I was prepared for anything, but for 30 bucks (the standard rate all over Korea), you get a room that's not significantly different from what you'd find in Europe, and possibly better appointed. There's A/C, a mini fridge with complimentary water in it, soft (if small) towels, and an array of toiletry products on the dresser. In some places, you sleep on the floor, but that's not as brutal as it sounds, just the way Koreans traditionally did it.
Seoraksan was misty and pretty; my second encounter with Korean hiking. Koreans LOVE to hike, so the trails are always extremely busy, but also very well-maintained. We went to Ulsanbawi, an incisor of rock bursting from the landscape that's scalable only with rope and harness. Until they built a staircase on it. Maybe it's a different attitude toward these things, or maybe it's just that most of the eminences in this country are ridiculously steep, but Koreans don't let forbidding landscape deter them from going where they want to go. Cables, ropes, and stairs are a fundamental part of hiking here. So are stores and food stands. There's an element of Disneyland in Korean nature...we kept wondering who trucks all those supplies up there. You can truly get away from it all, but you have to hike in a significant distance, probably more than a day. Offsetting all of this is the temples. I believe it's because Buddhism has a rocky history here, and temples were for a long time banished from population centers, but you don't have a park without a temple. And even though they're crawling with people, they are places of prayer and worship, and they do have a bit of mystique surrounding them, so you can be still and connect with it all if you want to.
Two days after the climb, my calves are still a bit stiff, but as grueling as these trails are, you routinely pass grannies and small children, so I'd better get myself in shape.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Existentialism of Place
It's becoming my Friday night tradition to get lost. After reading, eating, and (now) net surfing, I set out to get some exercise and see what's around. I usually walk for about 2 hours, enough time to cover good ground, and it really helps to piece together my concept of the surrounding area. Living near 2 major universities means I can usually find signs pointing me back, and I always take my T-Money card, so if I ever get truly off track, I can just find a subway station and have myself delivered back to familiar ground. Tonight I discovered tombs not very far away, found a park I've been eyeing on the map for a while, and located a Mexican restaurant within easy walking distance. Not bad.
Walking also gives my mind a chance to cut loose and let my impressions roll around and settle. I was pondering the nature of happiness tonight...what are the essential ingredients, levels of intensity, etc. I like my apartment. I'm never at a loss for things to do at home (my Seoul home), and my time here always goes quickly. I don't, however, feel joy at being here, as I do in my Rochester home. That apartment is more comfortable and provides more comfort (2 different things); the aesthetics are more soul-nourishing. It is a place where friends and family come and go. The cats live there, and their personalities infuse life into the place; interactions with them punctuate my time there and give rise to little explosions of delight that are addictive. So is it love that gives rise to happiness? I am not unhappy in Seoul, but delight seems a precious commodity. Is a completed circuit of affection a missing link? I looked at the married couples at Orientation, and realized how different this experience would be with an emotional home port at hand. For that matter, how different is the experience of Life when you have an emotional home port?
Familiarity, too, gives a sense of well-being. My interest in Seoul, and Korea, at this point is completely intellectual. Navigating a new culture is interesting, and I enjoy seeing different things and spotting differences. The waffles they sell on the subway platform are wonderful, and I think about them all week. But when I'm deciding what to do on a weekend, it's with a bit of a checklist approach. At home, the things I do in my free time, when not the result of someone else's suggestion, are often due to a sudden yearning to be in a particular place. Durand Beach, for instance, is not that empirically special, but is a place I frequently feel drawn to. I love the Lake and the sky and walking on the sand, but a visit there is also a continuation of all the visits in the past. It is where I swam as a kid, where I liked to drive when my license was new, where I watched the leaves change and the sun rise on my way to various jobs, where I went to polka at Oktoberfest, where I took my car to turn 200,000 miles and again for 300,000, where I walk with my Dad and without, where I've skated and frozen and gotten stuck in the snow with Mark, and all these mundane, magical moments that are cumulative and make simply being in that space a joyous occasion.
C.S. Lewis saw joy as proof of the existence of God. While this seems a potentially specious connection, as someone with beliefs tending towards animism, I think of the exhilaration of the aurora borealis or watching 30' waves crash on a beach or a humpback whale doing laps under the Zodiac I'm sitting in, and I have to concede that he may have a point. Maybe god is not so much in the details as in the semantics...we term religious those experiences that put our fingers on the pulse of the universe; for many people that takes the form of a personified God, for others it is simply a sense, an intuition, or something else entirely. And maybe that's why love and memories and cherished places feel so good--they connect us to what is eternal and give us confidence that we have a place in it all. So that is why moving away is so jarring...it's like pulling the plug on your umbilical cord to the Universe.
I'm sure things will soon be different. I was surprised by the pull Denver exerted on me, and I frequently think of London with affection, and I was far more bereft when I initially found myself in those places. I have no doubt that I will enjoy my time in Korea--hell, I already am--and will feel nostalgia for it when I'm home again. The people who've stayed for several years probably felt exactly as I do now. In fact, they probably felt worse because I've been lucky enough to have friends--and knowledgeable ones at that--right away.
I'll be so curious to hear myself in 48 weeks.
Walking also gives my mind a chance to cut loose and let my impressions roll around and settle. I was pondering the nature of happiness tonight...what are the essential ingredients, levels of intensity, etc. I like my apartment. I'm never at a loss for things to do at home (my Seoul home), and my time here always goes quickly. I don't, however, feel joy at being here, as I do in my Rochester home. That apartment is more comfortable and provides more comfort (2 different things); the aesthetics are more soul-nourishing. It is a place where friends and family come and go. The cats live there, and their personalities infuse life into the place; interactions with them punctuate my time there and give rise to little explosions of delight that are addictive. So is it love that gives rise to happiness? I am not unhappy in Seoul, but delight seems a precious commodity. Is a completed circuit of affection a missing link? I looked at the married couples at Orientation, and realized how different this experience would be with an emotional home port at hand. For that matter, how different is the experience of Life when you have an emotional home port?
Familiarity, too, gives a sense of well-being. My interest in Seoul, and Korea, at this point is completely intellectual. Navigating a new culture is interesting, and I enjoy seeing different things and spotting differences. The waffles they sell on the subway platform are wonderful, and I think about them all week. But when I'm deciding what to do on a weekend, it's with a bit of a checklist approach. At home, the things I do in my free time, when not the result of someone else's suggestion, are often due to a sudden yearning to be in a particular place. Durand Beach, for instance, is not that empirically special, but is a place I frequently feel drawn to. I love the Lake and the sky and walking on the sand, but a visit there is also a continuation of all the visits in the past. It is where I swam as a kid, where I liked to drive when my license was new, where I watched the leaves change and the sun rise on my way to various jobs, where I went to polka at Oktoberfest, where I took my car to turn 200,000 miles and again for 300,000, where I walk with my Dad and without, where I've skated and frozen and gotten stuck in the snow with Mark, and all these mundane, magical moments that are cumulative and make simply being in that space a joyous occasion.
C.S. Lewis saw joy as proof of the existence of God. While this seems a potentially specious connection, as someone with beliefs tending towards animism, I think of the exhilaration of the aurora borealis or watching 30' waves crash on a beach or a humpback whale doing laps under the Zodiac I'm sitting in, and I have to concede that he may have a point. Maybe god is not so much in the details as in the semantics...we term religious those experiences that put our fingers on the pulse of the universe; for many people that takes the form of a personified God, for others it is simply a sense, an intuition, or something else entirely. And maybe that's why love and memories and cherished places feel so good--they connect us to what is eternal and give us confidence that we have a place in it all. So that is why moving away is so jarring...it's like pulling the plug on your umbilical cord to the Universe.
I'm sure things will soon be different. I was surprised by the pull Denver exerted on me, and I frequently think of London with affection, and I was far more bereft when I initially found myself in those places. I have no doubt that I will enjoy my time in Korea--hell, I already am--and will feel nostalgia for it when I'm home again. The people who've stayed for several years probably felt exactly as I do now. In fact, they probably felt worse because I've been lucky enough to have friends--and knowledgeable ones at that--right away.
I'll be so curious to hear myself in 48 weeks.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
How to Eat in a Korean Cafeteria
Start with the divided plastic tray. These appear to be standard everywhere. Food goes directly on the tray. Pick up your spoon (a cross between a British tablespoon and a sundae spoon) and metal chopsticks (an extra element of fun because they are so slidey).
If it's a good day, there will be a cidery kind of drink or a tea, and paper cups to put it in. This is really a dessert, but if you're a stupid American, you can drink it with your meal.
Next on the line is kimchi--it can be either cabbage or radish, red or white, but it's ALWAYS there. It goes in one of the twin small compartments. In the other one goes whatever chilied-up vegetable of the day there is--it always looks like tempting greens, but is rarely something that can be agreeably chewed & swallowed without immolating your entire digestive system. Occasionally, it is sesame leaves, which are wrapped around a glob of rice in a deft chopstick movement that I can actually sometimes pull off.
If there's no drink, there will be a salad. It's usually mostly cabbage, sometimes mixed with lettuce and served with a super-sweet dressing. The best is when it's fruit (usually mixed with cabbage), although sometimes they will mess with your head by putting chili sauce on the apples.
Now comes the entree. Many days, they will helpfully have the meat & vegetables in separate concoctions, but not always. Sometimes, there are eggs, or these pancakey things with green onions in them. (If you like green onions, this is your country) Many times, there are mushrooms that look like squid. Sometimes it is actual squid. Once, there were tofu cakes, but I guess that's a "once in a while" treat. They're also partial to sticking hot dogs in stuff, so keep an eye out.
At the end of the line, to fill the large round and square spots in your tray, are the soup and the rice. ALWAYS, without fail. (so no matter how hot or meaty the lunch is, there's always rice) The soup is so hot it can kill you, but will often have tofu chunks in it, or seaweed.
Koreans don't drink anything during meals, but if you're a weird American and/or the kimchi vaporizes your skin on contact, there is a filtered-water dispenser and tiny metal cups. Right next to the dishwater rice, next to the door, because they're all meant to be consumed on the way out.
When you're done, you really should put all your uneaten food in your soup bowl, then dump in in a bucket containing a cafeteria concoction far worse than anything you managed in your school days, put your silverware in the dishpan full of water, and stack your tray and soup bowl in the big steel sink.
If you see any cafeteria workers, you might mistake them for a haz-mat team, with full-coverage uniform, bonnet or ludicrously tall chef's hat, apron, and knee-high rubber boots.
If it's a good day, there will be a cidery kind of drink or a tea, and paper cups to put it in. This is really a dessert, but if you're a stupid American, you can drink it with your meal.
Next on the line is kimchi--it can be either cabbage or radish, red or white, but it's ALWAYS there. It goes in one of the twin small compartments. In the other one goes whatever chilied-up vegetable of the day there is--it always looks like tempting greens, but is rarely something that can be agreeably chewed & swallowed without immolating your entire digestive system. Occasionally, it is sesame leaves, which are wrapped around a glob of rice in a deft chopstick movement that I can actually sometimes pull off.
If there's no drink, there will be a salad. It's usually mostly cabbage, sometimes mixed with lettuce and served with a super-sweet dressing. The best is when it's fruit (usually mixed with cabbage), although sometimes they will mess with your head by putting chili sauce on the apples.
Now comes the entree. Many days, they will helpfully have the meat & vegetables in separate concoctions, but not always. Sometimes, there are eggs, or these pancakey things with green onions in them. (If you like green onions, this is your country) Many times, there are mushrooms that look like squid. Sometimes it is actual squid. Once, there were tofu cakes, but I guess that's a "once in a while" treat. They're also partial to sticking hot dogs in stuff, so keep an eye out.
At the end of the line, to fill the large round and square spots in your tray, are the soup and the rice. ALWAYS, without fail. (so no matter how hot or meaty the lunch is, there's always rice) The soup is so hot it can kill you, but will often have tofu chunks in it, or seaweed.
Koreans don't drink anything during meals, but if you're a weird American and/or the kimchi vaporizes your skin on contact, there is a filtered-water dispenser and tiny metal cups. Right next to the dishwater rice, next to the door, because they're all meant to be consumed on the way out.
When you're done, you really should put all your uneaten food in your soup bowl, then dump in in a bucket containing a cafeteria concoction far worse than anything you managed in your school days, put your silverware in the dishpan full of water, and stack your tray and soup bowl in the big steel sink.
If you see any cafeteria workers, you might mistake them for a haz-mat team, with full-coverage uniform, bonnet or ludicrously tall chef's hat, apron, and knee-high rubber boots.
The School Skinny
It occurs to me that I kind of take my teaching scenario for granted, even though most of what they told us about it was news to me at orientation. So this post may be a little dry, but I'll explain the way things work.
The kids have a regular Korean-person English teacher who goes through the textbook and does all the meat & potatoes stuff with them. Then, once a week, I show up along with their regular teacher, to let them hear what English really sounds like. Now that I'm saying that, I'm really not sure why they're paying so much to have me here, but I'm not complaining. The "native" English teacher is not the one who was born here, but the native English speaker. In elementary schools, the native teacher follows the state-supplied textbook and teaches one of the regular lessons. Upper level schools have more freedom, and, fortunately, mine opted not to have me use the textbook (they have a really scattershot approach and are very hard to organize around). So I have 21 classes/week, each of whom I see once, and I do practical stuff with them--shopping, talking on the phone, asking directions. My job is to model pronunciation and supply practical phrases that people really use (like many language textbooks, this is a major weakness: asking the kids "How are you?" invariably yields a mechanical "I am fine, thank you", and every time I thank one of my co-teachers for anything, he responds, "Don't mention it").
Our middle school has 7th-9th grades, but they are called 1st-3rd--in Korea, moving up means starting over. I teach 9 3rd grades, 9 2nd grades, and 3 1st grades (the most advanced). 1st & 2nd graders are split into classes by ability; the 3rd graders are mixed (no idea why). I have 5 different co-teachers (and when I say "different", I really mean it), 3 men and 2 women. 2 of the guys are really nice and have good control of the class, 1 woman has a personality sort of like mine, really, and has no control of the kids, and the remaining 2 are scary & routinely whack kids with their sticks. I didn't know any of their names until someone redid my schedule & anglicized the names. The scary woman is also the head English teacher, so she can boss me around if she wants to. Of all the co-teachers, we're supposed to have one who is mainly in charge of us and answers all our questions and tells us what to do and is basically your Korean mom. Mine is actually a 6th person, whom I don't have any classes with, but she's really nice and helpful. I call her by her English name, Terrie, but apparently no one else does because when I referred to her this way to another teacher, I got a blank look.
I don't know what the other teachers call each other because I can't understand them, but I refer to the others as Mr. or Ms. whatever, except for the head teacher, whom I call "son sang nim", the Korean term of respect. The kids don't address teachers by name, calling them all "son sang nim" and me just "teacher". Occasionally, they will remember my name, in which case I am "Muh-lee-sah". I don't know any of their names, and I'm not expected to. The first week, I was going to have them introduce themselves until I realized I have 600 students and no hope of remembering anything. From what I can tell, the Korean teachers don't know their names, either...I think they all have a chair number and go by that. When we talked of making small, mixed-ability groups in each class, the teachers were going to have to look at the kids' test scores to see who knows their stuff. I am getting to know the kids in EEP, but cannot remember their names to save my life. Not a problem I'm used to having! And no one ever calls them the "kids", it's always "students".
After doing group work with some of the classes, I really understand why we were warned that it would be difficult. These kids are never asked to do anything in class but sit and pay attention, and they either go nuts or clam up when the paradigm is changed.
Instead of the teachers having a room of their own and the kids moving around, it is the opposite. I have a cubicle in an office with 5 other teachers, 2 of whom teach Social Studies (I don't know why the other English teachers aren't in there...it would be so convenient). I have to carry all my supplies to each class & back, and if I use a PowerPoint or other computer thing, I have to have it on a USB and hope the computer in the classroom works. The classroom computers are kept locked, and turned on & off between every period. One of the kids is the keeper of the key, so I have to locate that kid, and then usually get to spend a few minutes standing in front of the class waiting for the computer to boot up and recognize my USB. Not that starting promptly is a big thing. The first day or two, I conscientiously got to my classes before the bell rang, so everything would be ready to go right on time. But then Mr. Kwon, who's the friendliest and most helpful, told me to relax a bit...you don't actually leave for class until the bell has already rung (or the music has played, rather). And if I have consecutive classes in adjacent rooms...I still go to the office and hang out in between.
For lunch, there's a separate cafeteria for the teachers that serves better food. (I'm told...one of those soggy, square #46 school pizzas sounds pretty appealing right now, with the plastic tray of canned fruit, and a peanut butter & jelly bar...but I digress) Other differences...the library is only open after school (a royal pain); I want to bring in a picture of the cats to put on my desk, but nobody else has anything of the sort; there are always puddles of water on the floor (this probably isn't an all-around Korean thing, but who knows); and the teachers take no responsibility for the kids outside of class--they can throw rocks, run through the halls, shove people, whatever, and it doesn't faze anyone. Several times, I've heard a tremendous commotion and expected everyone to go running, but nobody blinks.
My favorite part, of course, is the full-length mirrors at the front of every classroom, 'cause I LOVE looking at myself and especially watching myself do things.
The kids have a regular Korean-person English teacher who goes through the textbook and does all the meat & potatoes stuff with them. Then, once a week, I show up along with their regular teacher, to let them hear what English really sounds like. Now that I'm saying that, I'm really not sure why they're paying so much to have me here, but I'm not complaining. The "native" English teacher is not the one who was born here, but the native English speaker. In elementary schools, the native teacher follows the state-supplied textbook and teaches one of the regular lessons. Upper level schools have more freedom, and, fortunately, mine opted not to have me use the textbook (they have a really scattershot approach and are very hard to organize around). So I have 21 classes/week, each of whom I see once, and I do practical stuff with them--shopping, talking on the phone, asking directions. My job is to model pronunciation and supply practical phrases that people really use (like many language textbooks, this is a major weakness: asking the kids "How are you?" invariably yields a mechanical "I am fine, thank you", and every time I thank one of my co-teachers for anything, he responds, "Don't mention it").
Our middle school has 7th-9th grades, but they are called 1st-3rd--in Korea, moving up means starting over. I teach 9 3rd grades, 9 2nd grades, and 3 1st grades (the most advanced). 1st & 2nd graders are split into classes by ability; the 3rd graders are mixed (no idea why). I have 5 different co-teachers (and when I say "different", I really mean it), 3 men and 2 women. 2 of the guys are really nice and have good control of the class, 1 woman has a personality sort of like mine, really, and has no control of the kids, and the remaining 2 are scary & routinely whack kids with their sticks. I didn't know any of their names until someone redid my schedule & anglicized the names. The scary woman is also the head English teacher, so she can boss me around if she wants to. Of all the co-teachers, we're supposed to have one who is mainly in charge of us and answers all our questions and tells us what to do and is basically your Korean mom. Mine is actually a 6th person, whom I don't have any classes with, but she's really nice and helpful. I call her by her English name, Terrie, but apparently no one else does because when I referred to her this way to another teacher, I got a blank look.
I don't know what the other teachers call each other because I can't understand them, but I refer to the others as Mr. or Ms. whatever, except for the head teacher, whom I call "son sang nim", the Korean term of respect. The kids don't address teachers by name, calling them all "son sang nim" and me just "teacher". Occasionally, they will remember my name, in which case I am "Muh-lee-sah". I don't know any of their names, and I'm not expected to. The first week, I was going to have them introduce themselves until I realized I have 600 students and no hope of remembering anything. From what I can tell, the Korean teachers don't know their names, either...I think they all have a chair number and go by that. When we talked of making small, mixed-ability groups in each class, the teachers were going to have to look at the kids' test scores to see who knows their stuff. I am getting to know the kids in EEP, but cannot remember their names to save my life. Not a problem I'm used to having! And no one ever calls them the "kids", it's always "students".
After doing group work with some of the classes, I really understand why we were warned that it would be difficult. These kids are never asked to do anything in class but sit and pay attention, and they either go nuts or clam up when the paradigm is changed.
Instead of the teachers having a room of their own and the kids moving around, it is the opposite. I have a cubicle in an office with 5 other teachers, 2 of whom teach Social Studies (I don't know why the other English teachers aren't in there...it would be so convenient). I have to carry all my supplies to each class & back, and if I use a PowerPoint or other computer thing, I have to have it on a USB and hope the computer in the classroom works. The classroom computers are kept locked, and turned on & off between every period. One of the kids is the keeper of the key, so I have to locate that kid, and then usually get to spend a few minutes standing in front of the class waiting for the computer to boot up and recognize my USB. Not that starting promptly is a big thing. The first day or two, I conscientiously got to my classes before the bell rang, so everything would be ready to go right on time. But then Mr. Kwon, who's the friendliest and most helpful, told me to relax a bit...you don't actually leave for class until the bell has already rung (or the music has played, rather). And if I have consecutive classes in adjacent rooms...I still go to the office and hang out in between.
For lunch, there's a separate cafeteria for the teachers that serves better food. (I'm told...one of those soggy, square #46 school pizzas sounds pretty appealing right now, with the plastic tray of canned fruit, and a peanut butter & jelly bar...but I digress) Other differences...the library is only open after school (a royal pain); I want to bring in a picture of the cats to put on my desk, but nobody else has anything of the sort; there are always puddles of water on the floor (this probably isn't an all-around Korean thing, but who knows); and the teachers take no responsibility for the kids outside of class--they can throw rocks, run through the halls, shove people, whatever, and it doesn't faze anyone. Several times, I've heard a tremendous commotion and expected everyone to go running, but nobody blinks.
My favorite part, of course, is the full-length mirrors at the front of every classroom, 'cause I LOVE looking at myself and especially watching myself do things.
Score!
Lonely Planet China new at Borders: $30
Lonely Planet China when I'm not sure whether I'm going there: a risky investment
Pre-grubbed up copy of Lonely Planet China from the used bookstore down the street: $5 :)
Not exactly priceless, but enough to make my day!
Lonely Planet China when I'm not sure whether I'm going there: a risky investment
Pre-grubbed up copy of Lonely Planet China from the used bookstore down the street: $5 :)
Not exactly priceless, but enough to make my day!
Huh?
I do not get it. This is why computers frustrate me so much, because they are completely inexplicable and unintuitive. We had EEP, the evening program, tonight, and one of the other "native" teachers showed me how to set up the internet for automatic configuration at home. Cool. I'm typing from my living room/bedroom/dining room/kitchen. But he also had me write down the school's IP address because apparently I will have to enter this manually to have internet tomorrow morning. This makes no sense at all to me. If the computer can automatically find my home internet, why can't it do the same at school? Just asking.
I feel like the snail in the well from elementary-school math problems, the one who covered half the distance out every day. We'd dutifully do all the calculations and then the teacher would explain that it was a trick question, and the snail was never going to get out. At least covering half the distance every day keeps me temporarily placated. And if I'm always placated until tomorrow...
I feel like the snail in the well from elementary-school math problems, the one who covered half the distance out every day. We'd dutifully do all the calculations and then the teacher would explain that it was a trick question, and the snail was never going to get out. At least covering half the distance every day keeps me temporarily placated. And if I'm always placated until tomorrow...
Monday, September 14, 2009
Dear Me,
I've been on the computer ALL evening. I had intended to read a chapter from "A Practical Handbook of Language Teaching", a super-useful book, but I started it and couldn't focus. The computer was calling. I was able to justify not going for a walk on the grounds that I have a cold or something (please don't let my school think it's swine flu!), but I really could use some exercise and my legs are getting pretty stiff after a pretty stiff hike yesterday. But it's almost 10 and I MUST get proper sleep tonight. That, and if I had a nice leafy 'round the block to do, I'd be out in a flash, but cement & steel & flashing lights are no damn good for me, to borrow from a song.
I fear this blog is turning into a platform for broacasting the kinds of meaningless comments we normally inflict on our familiars. (or pets) In the absence of any familiars, blogging allows me to indulge in the imagined relevance of passing thoughts. I have the sniffles and want to pick apples, and you're all on a need-to-know basis. Right. Hopefully the novelty of home internet will wear off before long, and I won't be too long gone from my weekly ritual of walking to the university.
I have to keep reminding myself it's still early in my journey (though when I tot up how long 'til homecoming, I need no reminders). Just like the internet frustration has magically disappeared, so too will other sources of vexation, and suddenly, I'll be living a normal life. Which'll be just about the time all my friends go home. It's sort of like being in prison...we're all here with a set time to serve, and when people's time is up, they go away. I need to keep cultivating friendships with my orientation group, since they're all stuck here as long as I am.
I also have to allow myself some slack. I just started my second week of teaching; it's unrealistic to think I'd be an expert yet. It feels like it's been a while, like I shouldn't be coming up with these dull and unfocused lesson plans, but it's only my second attempt. I do need to get better, though. I have 2 plans for this week, one for the "high" kids and one for the "low" kids. My only directive is to teach using storybooks. Teach what? Well, that's up to me, I suppose. And I'm basically using a dartboard method of deciding. My lessons haven't been total disasters, but for next time, I need to work on having a point. And getting the kids to care about it. I knew this was going to be really hard, and it is. I was looking for kids' stories on the internet, and I found this little book about a girl who caught alligators sneaking in in the night and messing everything up. She went to complain to some wise person about it, and the reply was that because of the alligators, she knew how to do a lot of things. I'm trying to keep the alligators in mind...it would be nice to go through life without any trials, but then I wouldn't know how to do anything, and what satisfaction is there in that? Hard times are always better in hindsight, but they have to be "now" sometime, and all you can do is plow through them. I long for the comfort of an undemanding job, but if I had that, I'd be longing for the fulfillment of authentic effort. Just trying to keep myself on track and my life in perspective.
One thing I miss that I didn't anticipate was the rhythms of the year. If I were home now, I would be picking apples, and parking myself on the floor in front of a football game to peel & dice them for applesauce & pie. I'd be planning a trip to Naples for a hike and cookies. I'd be going to Netsin's as many times as I could before they close, and maybe sneaking in walks to the new Donuts Delite/Salvatore's to see if they have pumpkin fried cakes. I'd be watching the changing leaves of my front-window tree, and the changing vegetables in my CSA share. I'd have "Halloween decor" written on my calendar a couple Saturdays from now. But none of that matters here, and it leaves me adrift in a much more subtle, yet fundamental, way. Will it all come rushing back when I get home? Or will I be out of step again, "coming home to a place I'd never been before" in a different sense than what John Denver meant?
I guess none of it really matters, though. I've got 49 weeks to live in Seoul, and if my mind is perpetually in New York, I'm never really here. And if that's the case, then all the struggle is wasted and I might as well just go home now. Despite what I may think, I really DON'T want to do that.
I would like a pumpkin fried cake, though.
I fear this blog is turning into a platform for broacasting the kinds of meaningless comments we normally inflict on our familiars. (or pets) In the absence of any familiars, blogging allows me to indulge in the imagined relevance of passing thoughts. I have the sniffles and want to pick apples, and you're all on a need-to-know basis. Right. Hopefully the novelty of home internet will wear off before long, and I won't be too long gone from my weekly ritual of walking to the university.
I have to keep reminding myself it's still early in my journey (though when I tot up how long 'til homecoming, I need no reminders). Just like the internet frustration has magically disappeared, so too will other sources of vexation, and suddenly, I'll be living a normal life. Which'll be just about the time all my friends go home. It's sort of like being in prison...we're all here with a set time to serve, and when people's time is up, they go away. I need to keep cultivating friendships with my orientation group, since they're all stuck here as long as I am.
I also have to allow myself some slack. I just started my second week of teaching; it's unrealistic to think I'd be an expert yet. It feels like it's been a while, like I shouldn't be coming up with these dull and unfocused lesson plans, but it's only my second attempt. I do need to get better, though. I have 2 plans for this week, one for the "high" kids and one for the "low" kids. My only directive is to teach using storybooks. Teach what? Well, that's up to me, I suppose. And I'm basically using a dartboard method of deciding. My lessons haven't been total disasters, but for next time, I need to work on having a point. And getting the kids to care about it. I knew this was going to be really hard, and it is. I was looking for kids' stories on the internet, and I found this little book about a girl who caught alligators sneaking in in the night and messing everything up. She went to complain to some wise person about it, and the reply was that because of the alligators, she knew how to do a lot of things. I'm trying to keep the alligators in mind...it would be nice to go through life without any trials, but then I wouldn't know how to do anything, and what satisfaction is there in that? Hard times are always better in hindsight, but they have to be "now" sometime, and all you can do is plow through them. I long for the comfort of an undemanding job, but if I had that, I'd be longing for the fulfillment of authentic effort. Just trying to keep myself on track and my life in perspective.
One thing I miss that I didn't anticipate was the rhythms of the year. If I were home now, I would be picking apples, and parking myself on the floor in front of a football game to peel & dice them for applesauce & pie. I'd be planning a trip to Naples for a hike and cookies. I'd be going to Netsin's as many times as I could before they close, and maybe sneaking in walks to the new Donuts Delite/Salvatore's to see if they have pumpkin fried cakes. I'd be watching the changing leaves of my front-window tree, and the changing vegetables in my CSA share. I'd have "Halloween decor" written on my calendar a couple Saturdays from now. But none of that matters here, and it leaves me adrift in a much more subtle, yet fundamental, way. Will it all come rushing back when I get home? Or will I be out of step again, "coming home to a place I'd never been before" in a different sense than what John Denver meant?
I guess none of it really matters, though. I've got 49 weeks to live in Seoul, and if my mind is perpetually in New York, I'm never really here. And if that's the case, then all the struggle is wasted and I might as well just go home now. Despite what I may think, I really DON'T want to do that.
I would like a pumpkin fried cake, though.
WOO HOO!!
Well, this trumps all. I have a real backlog of blog topics since I haven't had much time lately to sit and commit my thoughts to cyberspace, but the big news of today is that I'm online at home. Blogging live on the internet, in my own room! This is a happy occasion indeed. I don't have my personal computer sorted yet--I brought the school's home--but just the fact that I can access the internet on my own, for free, is enough lift for today. Wonder how much I'll get done tonight.
Little by little, things come together. I got my settlement allowance on Friday. They told us we'd get it during the first week. It only happened because I told my co-teacher I didn't have any money and she pulled some strings. So, finally, I can relax a little. Just a little, but it feels good. Friday night, I went on a shopping spree. All the things that have been annoying me in my apartment can now be rectified. Started slowly with the $10 coat tree I've been eyeing at the shop down the street. Came home & put it together (no tools required, fortunately). It lists, but at least if I have a wet jacket, I don't have to lay it on the bed or hang it next to my good suit. Had to consciously remember that I can leave plastic bags on the floor without fear of anyone smothering.
Next stop, the little grocery store. They don't post prices, though, so I'm really uneasy about shopping there. Decided I need to find a new store. So I set off walking in a direction I haven't been. Not much useful for a while. Finally came across Lotte Mart, a sort of Wal-Mart meets Marshall Field in Korea. It was 8pm. They were closing. Still can't make sense of that, but whatever. Instead, struck oil at a "dollar" store next door. I'm still pleased as punch about this. For $20, I got:
--a paring knife
--a wooden spoon
--a frying spatula (splurged on the $3 one for the nice, round handle!)
--a plate
--a cute bath towel with elephants on it
--a mat to dry dishes on, shaped like a fish
--9 hangers, sturdier and cheaper than the ones at the store down the street
--a little present for Ramsey, for loaning me money and giving me food
--a cutting board, shaped like an apple
--a can opener
--and, gratuitously, a bookend that looks like a cute cat
Then, for whatever reason, I kept on down the street and found--cue music of wonder--a Tesco HomePlus. It had a bunch of Korean writing on it and the number 24--does that mean what I think it means? It does!! 4 beautiful floors of *mission accomplished*! 2nd floor--a new USB, so I don't have to subject my personal one to the hard use and promiscuity of daily classes; 3rd floor--birthday present for Mark, and quirky Chinese alarm clock (though this might have to go back--I can't figure out how to turn off the alarm, and the Korean directions I had my co-teacher read today refer to a non-existent switch...more miming & ineptitude in my future); basement--groceries! "Corn Flight" (you know them as Frosted Flakes) with a jaunty lion on the front and a free pack of colored pencils (yay!), chocolate chip cookies (almost $3 for what turns out to be 12 individually-wrapped cookies--boo), butter ('cause I'd used up the packets I got at Outback when they threw a few extra breads in with my leftovers), oj with a sample of grape juice taped on (this is big here), and crackers (also in micro-packs inside the box, but I'm quite self-satisfied for discerning that they were buy 1 get 1 free). My kitchen is almost properly functional now. And I know where to get Western groceries when I need them. Things are good.
Then the big bonus--I went to a chili party on Saturday night, and my new friend Amanda had gone to Costco and gotten me a welcome gift--a giant slab of cheddar!!!
After the bounty of this weekend, I'd be a damned fool to complain about anything, but I probably will, so watch this space.
Little by little, things come together. I got my settlement allowance on Friday. They told us we'd get it during the first week. It only happened because I told my co-teacher I didn't have any money and she pulled some strings. So, finally, I can relax a little. Just a little, but it feels good. Friday night, I went on a shopping spree. All the things that have been annoying me in my apartment can now be rectified. Started slowly with the $10 coat tree I've been eyeing at the shop down the street. Came home & put it together (no tools required, fortunately). It lists, but at least if I have a wet jacket, I don't have to lay it on the bed or hang it next to my good suit. Had to consciously remember that I can leave plastic bags on the floor without fear of anyone smothering.
Next stop, the little grocery store. They don't post prices, though, so I'm really uneasy about shopping there. Decided I need to find a new store. So I set off walking in a direction I haven't been. Not much useful for a while. Finally came across Lotte Mart, a sort of Wal-Mart meets Marshall Field in Korea. It was 8pm. They were closing. Still can't make sense of that, but whatever. Instead, struck oil at a "dollar" store next door. I'm still pleased as punch about this. For $20, I got:
--a paring knife
--a wooden spoon
--a frying spatula (splurged on the $3 one for the nice, round handle!)
--a plate
--a cute bath towel with elephants on it
--a mat to dry dishes on, shaped like a fish
--9 hangers, sturdier and cheaper than the ones at the store down the street
--a little present for Ramsey, for loaning me money and giving me food
--a cutting board, shaped like an apple
--a can opener
--and, gratuitously, a bookend that looks like a cute cat
Then, for whatever reason, I kept on down the street and found--cue music of wonder--a Tesco HomePlus. It had a bunch of Korean writing on it and the number 24--does that mean what I think it means? It does!! 4 beautiful floors of *mission accomplished*! 2nd floor--a new USB, so I don't have to subject my personal one to the hard use and promiscuity of daily classes; 3rd floor--birthday present for Mark, and quirky Chinese alarm clock (though this might have to go back--I can't figure out how to turn off the alarm, and the Korean directions I had my co-teacher read today refer to a non-existent switch...more miming & ineptitude in my future); basement--groceries! "Corn Flight" (you know them as Frosted Flakes) with a jaunty lion on the front and a free pack of colored pencils (yay!), chocolate chip cookies (almost $3 for what turns out to be 12 individually-wrapped cookies--boo), butter ('cause I'd used up the packets I got at Outback when they threw a few extra breads in with my leftovers), oj with a sample of grape juice taped on (this is big here), and crackers (also in micro-packs inside the box, but I'm quite self-satisfied for discerning that they were buy 1 get 1 free). My kitchen is almost properly functional now. And I know where to get Western groceries when I need them. Things are good.
Then the big bonus--I went to a chili party on Saturday night, and my new friend Amanda had gone to Costco and gotten me a welcome gift--a giant slab of cheddar!!!
After the bounty of this weekend, I'd be a damned fool to complain about anything, but I probably will, so watch this space.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Taco Salad - Korean Apartment Style
- Pour purchased filtered water into bowl. Microwave till hot.
- Shake in some dehydrated refried beans, which in a previous life, schlepped around the Rockies in some kid’s rented backpack. Stir with spoon because this morning was rushed and fork is dirty.
- Tear up a slice of processed cheese (just one—the pack of 14 cost $5*)
- Using Swiss Army knife, cut up a tomato on the little styrofoam tray from the bananas. Put the stem in the compost bag in the freezer.
- Top with Bugles—corn chips are $5/bag, and tortillas don’t exist.
- Decide against adding canned corn…it would be valuable to save it for another meal, and there’s nowhere to put the leftovers anyway.
- Rinse off Swiss Army knife and styrofoam to allow slicing of wicked-sale kiwi for dessert.
- Sit on sweaty plastic couch & enjoy!
*when I say $5, what I mean is 5,000 won. They’re not exactly equivalent (it’s about 1000 won:80 cents), but dropping 3 zeroes is a handy, and common, way of getting a sense of what you’re spending.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The glass is half .....?
I’m typing on “my own” laptop again. I’ve been sort of avoiding it on the grounds that if I don’t try to turn it on, it can’t die. I’ve grown quite fond of it, and would miss it for more than just practical reasons. I like it much better than the beast at school. It’s not always cooperative, but, I suppose, neither am I. It’s nice to type on a keyboard that doesn’t have a plastic overcoat, and won’t slip into Hangeul if I hit the wrong key.
Another weekend has come and gone…probably even for you home folks by the time you read this. I spent a large chunk of it acting totally out of character. Friday night, I turned on the tv and got sucked into a biography of Celine Dion that turned out to be 2 hours long. If I’d had to predict what I’d be doing in Korea, it would have taken more than my life span to guess that. She’s actually a really nice, centered person. I spent a lot more than 2 hours with my nose in a detective novel I picked up for 50 cents in the Cortez library. To justify, it’s not just any detective novel, it’s Ian Rankin. I’m on a bit of a Scottish author kick, having let my Alexander McCall Smith absorption lead me to check out this real life author he wrote into one of his books (to say nothing of JK Rowling, whose last book is also on my “soon” list). Both Rankin and McCall Smith write with such a tremendous sense of place, I want to put a big map of Edinburgh on the wall so I can follow the action.
I did get out this weekend, and quite a bit. As plans were being made via Facebook, it looked like a competing jumble of wishes and needs, the kind of thing where there’s so much to do that none of it works out. Instead, the opposite happened. One of my fellow SMOE-ers was trying to organize an outing to the Korean War Memorial Museum. I ended up being the only one who showed, and was worried for a while that she wasn’t going to, but she did, and I was so elated to be talking to a fluent English speaker, I almost didn’t care about the exhibits. (As it was, the exhibits had only very sparse English translation, so it was more a matter of absorbing the gist of it anyway) Looking for an ATM beforehand, I was reminded of possibly my least favorite part about London, namely that the ubiquitous Chinese takeaways would magically disappear whenever I wanted Chinese. There are convenience marts with ATMs on every block in Seoul, but not near the War Museum. Fortunately, it took me less than the 2 hours I’d routinely spend in London to turn one up. I guess my neighborhood really is quite a handy place.
Next moved on to free Korean lessons with Amanda, whom I met last weekend. They were really useful; better taught than the class I went to at Orientation. We went over the Korean alphabet—I have the consonants pretty solidly, but only about half the vowels. The teacher gave us some good mnemonics, though…some flashcard work, and I’ll be a pro. Lessons culminate in a dinner outing, where I was able to reconnect with some SMOE folk, then Amanda & I met Ramsey for tea. The place was awesome—a little nook up some stairs; a floor made of stones with a stream drifting through it and fish swimming by; tables made of stumps. Ramsey & I got carried away telling stories of my cousins/his friends in Illinois, but the taste of home did both of us good. Unfortunately, the tea shop is in a nest of alleys of the sort the mafia might use to conceal their location, so I’ll probably never find it again.
My Korean neighbor just stopped by to give me the password for the newly-erected glass door at the foot of the stairs. I arrived home late last night, laden with groceries, to find it operational, an eventuality I’d been anticipating since they installed it. I punched in every code I could imagine on the keypad, headed back out to call my first co-teacher whose phone number was in my wallet, decided it was too late for that, paced the street for a few minutes, then decided to try knocking. Pounded on the glass door & it slid open like something out of Star Trek. Used a similar strategy when I got home tonight. Wondered if this was how it’s supposed to work. Thankfully, no.
Got acquainted with the world of Korean mass retail on Sunday. Bookstore first—lots of tempting possibilities for my students, all the books helpfully encased in protective plastic, but no money for books, and they’re awfully expensive even if I was funded. Did pick up a used copy of The Watsons go to Birmingham, which I’ve been meaning to read for years. On to E-Mart, every bit the Sunday-afternoon circus you might expect. Made a stupid-foreigner money miscalculation & ended up with $1 remaining to my name. So thankful for all the little things I considered buying and didn’t. At least my fridge doesn’t look so pathetic now that it’s got milk & eggs in it, and “Happy Morning Toast” (aka bread) in the freezer. I was so happy (and lacking anything else), I had corn flakes for dinner last night. 2 bowls!
Another stroke of luck was Ramsey’s 6:30 appointment getting postponed, so our on-again, off-again hiking plans miraculously saw fruition. There’s a small mountain near his house, which we set up near dusk. My jotted notes: “Seoul is big. I am sweaty. Hiking is great.” Superlatives for all. The most amazing thing is, you get a bit of elevation, and though this massive city and all its lights and features stretch out in every direction, you can’t hear it at all. More lights than Manhattan, quieter than Deer Hill. This could be addicting.
There was one minor event yesterday that is my Korean experience in a nutshell. Having eaten my last oatmeal on Friday (and not yet acquired the corn flakes), I was scrounging for breakfast over the weekend. I have granola that I’ve been trying to find yogurt for, but in searching the cupboard for something else, I found a bag of powdered milk I’d forgotten. Perfect! That’ll do for the granola. I poured some in a bowl of water and let it sit. When I returned, it was a little sludgy, but I figured this was ok—it’d be like cream. I stirred in a generous helping of granola. And it was like cream…of wheat. Turns out it wasn’t powdered milk at all, but dehydrated mashed potato. (Oh, the number of times I warned kids about things like this this summer) It was positively nauseating. But I can’t afford to waste food, and I didn’t yet have any food disposal bags, so I made my way through the whole thing. The good news? I’ve been dreaming of mashed potatoes a lot lately, and I have some right in the cupboard!
Everything is a good news/bad news scenario. It’s good training to find the silver lining in everything that makes me groan. It seems like I’ll be here forever…but time is flying by. I only have to write one lesson plan for all my classes…but I’m sick of it after 4 today, and I’ve got 17 more repetitions to go. All I can do is roll with it.
I’m typing on “my own” laptop again. I’ve been sort of avoiding it on the grounds that if I don’t try to turn it on, it can’t die. I’ve grown quite fond of it, and would miss it for more than just practical reasons. I like it much better than the beast at school. It’s not always cooperative, but, I suppose, neither am I. It’s nice to type on a keyboard that doesn’t have a plastic overcoat, and won’t slip into Hangeul if I hit the wrong key.
Another weekend has come and gone…probably even for you home folks by the time you read this. I spent a large chunk of it acting totally out of character. Friday night, I turned on the tv and got sucked into a biography of Celine Dion that turned out to be 2 hours long. If I’d had to predict what I’d be doing in Korea, it would have taken more than my life span to guess that. She’s actually a really nice, centered person. I spent a lot more than 2 hours with my nose in a detective novel I picked up for 50 cents in the Cortez library. To justify, it’s not just any detective novel, it’s Ian Rankin. I’m on a bit of a Scottish author kick, having let my Alexander McCall Smith absorption lead me to check out this real life author he wrote into one of his books (to say nothing of JK Rowling, whose last book is also on my “soon” list). Both Rankin and McCall Smith write with such a tremendous sense of place, I want to put a big map of Edinburgh on the wall so I can follow the action.
I did get out this weekend, and quite a bit. As plans were being made via Facebook, it looked like a competing jumble of wishes and needs, the kind of thing where there’s so much to do that none of it works out. Instead, the opposite happened. One of my fellow SMOE-ers was trying to organize an outing to the Korean War Memorial Museum. I ended up being the only one who showed, and was worried for a while that she wasn’t going to, but she did, and I was so elated to be talking to a fluent English speaker, I almost didn’t care about the exhibits. (As it was, the exhibits had only very sparse English translation, so it was more a matter of absorbing the gist of it anyway) Looking for an ATM beforehand, I was reminded of possibly my least favorite part about London, namely that the ubiquitous Chinese takeaways would magically disappear whenever I wanted Chinese. There are convenience marts with ATMs on every block in Seoul, but not near the War Museum. Fortunately, it took me less than the 2 hours I’d routinely spend in London to turn one up. I guess my neighborhood really is quite a handy place.
Next moved on to free Korean lessons with Amanda, whom I met last weekend. They were really useful; better taught than the class I went to at Orientation. We went over the Korean alphabet—I have the consonants pretty solidly, but only about half the vowels. The teacher gave us some good mnemonics, though…some flashcard work, and I’ll be a pro. Lessons culminate in a dinner outing, where I was able to reconnect with some SMOE folk, then Amanda & I met Ramsey for tea. The place was awesome—a little nook up some stairs; a floor made of stones with a stream drifting through it and fish swimming by; tables made of stumps. Ramsey & I got carried away telling stories of my cousins/his friends in Illinois, but the taste of home did both of us good. Unfortunately, the tea shop is in a nest of alleys of the sort the mafia might use to conceal their location, so I’ll probably never find it again.
My Korean neighbor just stopped by to give me the password for the newly-erected glass door at the foot of the stairs. I arrived home late last night, laden with groceries, to find it operational, an eventuality I’d been anticipating since they installed it. I punched in every code I could imagine on the keypad, headed back out to call my first co-teacher whose phone number was in my wallet, decided it was too late for that, paced the street for a few minutes, then decided to try knocking. Pounded on the glass door & it slid open like something out of Star Trek. Used a similar strategy when I got home tonight. Wondered if this was how it’s supposed to work. Thankfully, no.
Got acquainted with the world of Korean mass retail on Sunday. Bookstore first—lots of tempting possibilities for my students, all the books helpfully encased in protective plastic, but no money for books, and they’re awfully expensive even if I was funded. Did pick up a used copy of The Watsons go to Birmingham, which I’ve been meaning to read for years. On to E-Mart, every bit the Sunday-afternoon circus you might expect. Made a stupid-foreigner money miscalculation & ended up with $1 remaining to my name. So thankful for all the little things I considered buying and didn’t. At least my fridge doesn’t look so pathetic now that it’s got milk & eggs in it, and “Happy Morning Toast” (aka bread) in the freezer. I was so happy (and lacking anything else), I had corn flakes for dinner last night. 2 bowls!
Another stroke of luck was Ramsey’s 6:30 appointment getting postponed, so our on-again, off-again hiking plans miraculously saw fruition. There’s a small mountain near his house, which we set up near dusk. My jotted notes: “Seoul is big. I am sweaty. Hiking is great.” Superlatives for all. The most amazing thing is, you get a bit of elevation, and though this massive city and all its lights and features stretch out in every direction, you can’t hear it at all. More lights than Manhattan, quieter than Deer Hill. This could be addicting.
There was one minor event yesterday that is my Korean experience in a nutshell. Having eaten my last oatmeal on Friday (and not yet acquired the corn flakes), I was scrounging for breakfast over the weekend. I have granola that I’ve been trying to find yogurt for, but in searching the cupboard for something else, I found a bag of powdered milk I’d forgotten. Perfect! That’ll do for the granola. I poured some in a bowl of water and let it sit. When I returned, it was a little sludgy, but I figured this was ok—it’d be like cream. I stirred in a generous helping of granola. And it was like cream…of wheat. Turns out it wasn’t powdered milk at all, but dehydrated mashed potato. (Oh, the number of times I warned kids about things like this this summer) It was positively nauseating. But I can’t afford to waste food, and I didn’t yet have any food disposal bags, so I made my way through the whole thing. The good news? I’ve been dreaming of mashed potatoes a lot lately, and I have some right in the cupboard!
Everything is a good news/bad news scenario. It’s good training to find the silver lining in everything that makes me groan. It seems like I’ll be here forever…but time is flying by. I only have to write one lesson plan for all my classes…but I’m sick of it after 4 today, and I’ve got 17 more repetitions to go. All I can do is roll with it.
Foiled Again
It was an inspirational plan. Take the school laptop home and plug it into the internet cable. Email, Facebook, and blog freely. Catch up on everything. Catch family members online. No dice, though. I don’t know whether the internet in my room is bad, or if there’s some computer voodoo I don’t know about to make it work, but my page cannot be displayed. :( I’m going to start just emailing blog entries to people and uploading photos to my work computer. And I’m really eager to start Skyping. I’ve worked out a phone schedule for everyone; getting a phone is the only missing piece.
It’s interesting that I come home less tired on the days I do 12 hours. I think it has something to do with feeling efficacious—the long days are the ones where I actually teach something, so I’m not just numb by the time I leave. That may change this week...we’ll see how I feel after teaching 8 classes in a day. The pay is great, though, which will help a lot, and we get dinner gratis. My goal for the year is to get through a Korean meal without streaming nose and burning tongue, but it’s early yet. The cafeteria meals have not been entirely veggie-unfriendly, and usually just when I’m despairing of having a good meal, they surprise me with something like fruit salad or fresh cherry tomatoes. 5 Korean lunches and 2 Korean dinners each week also ensure that I’m not missing any cultural experience when I cook pasta or burritos for myself. Given the yumminess and affordability of bibimbap and that rice roll thing whose name I forgot (something else –bap), I’ll be doing Korean on my own, too, especially since there’s a bap shop (they rhyme) on the ground floor of my building. I can’t remember what I said in my last blog (can’t look at it, either), but while I have to walk up 4 flights of stairs to my apartment, I’m just glad not to be on the 25th floor of one of those featureless high-rises Seoul is famous for.
I’ve been collecting observations about differences between Korean and American culture—I’ve probably forgotten as many as I’ve written down, but here’s a first list (there will be many more, I’m sure):
At School:--the kids are really friendly. They don’t behave themselves any more than Americans, but they’re much more cheerful about it
--outside all the schools I’ve seen is a sign (like our Drug Free School Zone ones) proclaiming it a green food zone. No clue.
--for all Koreans’ reputation of being hardcore on education (and it does manifest in other ways), the schedule would give American hardliners apoplexy. The school day consists of only 6 45-minute periods, with an hour for lunch and 10 minutes break between each class.
--at my school, the teachers don’t keep the same classroom. It’s a pain in the ass. They usually walk in after the bell, too. It’s a weird kind of relaxed.
--all the teachers carry a stick. Some use it just as a pointer or to make noise, but I have also witnessed a caning line-up.
--students have their names sewn above their pockets, like Army recruits. Unfortunately, I can’t read fast enough for it to help.
--the kids clean the teachers’ office every day after school (albeit perfunctorily)
--the first time I used the bathroom, I couldn’t find any tp. My co-teacher explained that in the temporary building (the English dept is there while a new school is being built), teachers & students have to share a bathroom, so we have to carry the roll in from our office. I don’t know what the students are expected to do.
--and, on a fun note, the kids have learned what WTF stands for. I’ve seen it written out on desks, and listened to a group of girls volley the phrase around while they worked with their teacher on a project. It attracts no more attention than an American saying “merde” or “bloody” at school.
Korea in general:
--the compactness of Hangeul means that signature spaces are impossibly tiny. Plus, there’s no printing/cursive distinction, so you have to figure out what’s called for when filling out forms. “Signature” just means write your name.
--Koreans write the date American, rather than European, style, but the year goes first.
--their t-shirts are really nice! I was given shirts by both my recruiter and SMOE, and they’re thick and soft. SMOE only had sizes XL, XXL, and XXXL for us, which caused some dismay until we realized they will in fact fit.
--navigating the streets & sidewalks is like a cheerful video game. Bikes & motorcycles ride on the sidewalk most of the time, and both they and cars will honk a quick note at whoever’s in their way. Honking is not an invitation to a pissing contest, but a request that’s generally complied with.
--Koreans love little ditties. At school, instead of bells, electronic musical phrases signal the end of class. My door plays a few notes every time it locks. The washing machine sings an entire tune when the cycle is finished. On the subway, they play a few bars of classical music to signal an upcoming stop. We’ll see if it makes me insane by the end of the year.
--Koreans don’t remove those blue foam chunks that manufacturers put on car doors. It also appears they leave the UPC sticker on the car, although maybe this is some kind of registration thing.
--Koreans don’t appear to dry their hands after washing. I’ve yet to see a stocked paper towel dispenser, and no one seems fussed by this. Most of the teachers brush their teeth after lunch.
--Drinking anything with a meal is not traditionally done, although in restaurants, they do bring you a Rubbermaid container of water (a custom I wish Americans would adopt). What you see a lot of is filtered water dispensers, often with a sterilization cabinet full of little stainless steel cups. For all of you who’ve laughed at the size of my juice glasses, you’d really get a bang out of these.
--While I don’t really like kimchi (the smell reminds me of a diaper pail), I can understand how others might, and I’m eating one piece at each meal in an attempt to follow suit. What I don’t get is Korean “dessert”: it appears to be the dregs from the rice cooker, floating in cloudy water. Maybe it began as a practicality and people just got used to eating it after meals. I just can’t fathom the appeal. I keep a bag of dried fruit at my desk to satisfy my sweet tooth after meals and soothe my smoldering tongue.
And a characteristic that merits its own category...butchered English. There is English writing on everything—restaurants, wastebaskets, t-shirts, silverware, you name it—and a lot of it is comically stilted or nonsensical. I think one of these items will be the treasured souvenir of my time here; I’ll have to choose carefully among the multitude of options. A couple favorites:
--the planter that says “Love House”
--a t-shirt proclaiming “Revolrution American Style”
--an anecdote from one of my veteran teacher friends: for an assignment asking students who they would pick if they could meet anyone, living or dead... “If I could meet anyone living or dead, I would choose to meet them living”
I hope to be able to post pictures soon...it’s been way too long, and there are lots to share. Another casualty of the internet snafu. Someday, this will just be a blip on the radar. It’d better be.
It was an inspirational plan. Take the school laptop home and plug it into the internet cable. Email, Facebook, and blog freely. Catch up on everything. Catch family members online. No dice, though. I don’t know whether the internet in my room is bad, or if there’s some computer voodoo I don’t know about to make it work, but my page cannot be displayed. :( I’m going to start just emailing blog entries to people and uploading photos to my work computer. And I’m really eager to start Skyping. I’ve worked out a phone schedule for everyone; getting a phone is the only missing piece.
It’s interesting that I come home less tired on the days I do 12 hours. I think it has something to do with feeling efficacious—the long days are the ones where I actually teach something, so I’m not just numb by the time I leave. That may change this week...we’ll see how I feel after teaching 8 classes in a day. The pay is great, though, which will help a lot, and we get dinner gratis. My goal for the year is to get through a Korean meal without streaming nose and burning tongue, but it’s early yet. The cafeteria meals have not been entirely veggie-unfriendly, and usually just when I’m despairing of having a good meal, they surprise me with something like fruit salad or fresh cherry tomatoes. 5 Korean lunches and 2 Korean dinners each week also ensure that I’m not missing any cultural experience when I cook pasta or burritos for myself. Given the yumminess and affordability of bibimbap and that rice roll thing whose name I forgot (something else –bap), I’ll be doing Korean on my own, too, especially since there’s a bap shop (they rhyme) on the ground floor of my building. I can’t remember what I said in my last blog (can’t look at it, either), but while I have to walk up 4 flights of stairs to my apartment, I’m just glad not to be on the 25th floor of one of those featureless high-rises Seoul is famous for.
I’ve been collecting observations about differences between Korean and American culture—I’ve probably forgotten as many as I’ve written down, but here’s a first list (there will be many more, I’m sure):
At School:--the kids are really friendly. They don’t behave themselves any more than Americans, but they’re much more cheerful about it
--outside all the schools I’ve seen is a sign (like our Drug Free School Zone ones) proclaiming it a green food zone. No clue.
--for all Koreans’ reputation of being hardcore on education (and it does manifest in other ways), the schedule would give American hardliners apoplexy. The school day consists of only 6 45-minute periods, with an hour for lunch and 10 minutes break between each class.
--at my school, the teachers don’t keep the same classroom. It’s a pain in the ass. They usually walk in after the bell, too. It’s a weird kind of relaxed.
--all the teachers carry a stick. Some use it just as a pointer or to make noise, but I have also witnessed a caning line-up.
--students have their names sewn above their pockets, like Army recruits. Unfortunately, I can’t read fast enough for it to help.
--the kids clean the teachers’ office every day after school (albeit perfunctorily)
--the first time I used the bathroom, I couldn’t find any tp. My co-teacher explained that in the temporary building (the English dept is there while a new school is being built), teachers & students have to share a bathroom, so we have to carry the roll in from our office. I don’t know what the students are expected to do.
--and, on a fun note, the kids have learned what WTF stands for. I’ve seen it written out on desks, and listened to a group of girls volley the phrase around while they worked with their teacher on a project. It attracts no more attention than an American saying “merde” or “bloody” at school.
Korea in general:
--the compactness of Hangeul means that signature spaces are impossibly tiny. Plus, there’s no printing/cursive distinction, so you have to figure out what’s called for when filling out forms. “Signature” just means write your name.
--Koreans write the date American, rather than European, style, but the year goes first.
--their t-shirts are really nice! I was given shirts by both my recruiter and SMOE, and they’re thick and soft. SMOE only had sizes XL, XXL, and XXXL for us, which caused some dismay until we realized they will in fact fit.
--navigating the streets & sidewalks is like a cheerful video game. Bikes & motorcycles ride on the sidewalk most of the time, and both they and cars will honk a quick note at whoever’s in their way. Honking is not an invitation to a pissing contest, but a request that’s generally complied with.
--Koreans love little ditties. At school, instead of bells, electronic musical phrases signal the end of class. My door plays a few notes every time it locks. The washing machine sings an entire tune when the cycle is finished. On the subway, they play a few bars of classical music to signal an upcoming stop. We’ll see if it makes me insane by the end of the year.
--Koreans don’t remove those blue foam chunks that manufacturers put on car doors. It also appears they leave the UPC sticker on the car, although maybe this is some kind of registration thing.
--Koreans don’t appear to dry their hands after washing. I’ve yet to see a stocked paper towel dispenser, and no one seems fussed by this. Most of the teachers brush their teeth after lunch.
--Drinking anything with a meal is not traditionally done, although in restaurants, they do bring you a Rubbermaid container of water (a custom I wish Americans would adopt). What you see a lot of is filtered water dispensers, often with a sterilization cabinet full of little stainless steel cups. For all of you who’ve laughed at the size of my juice glasses, you’d really get a bang out of these.
--While I don’t really like kimchi (the smell reminds me of a diaper pail), I can understand how others might, and I’m eating one piece at each meal in an attempt to follow suit. What I don’t get is Korean “dessert”: it appears to be the dregs from the rice cooker, floating in cloudy water. Maybe it began as a practicality and people just got used to eating it after meals. I just can’t fathom the appeal. I keep a bag of dried fruit at my desk to satisfy my sweet tooth after meals and soothe my smoldering tongue.
And a characteristic that merits its own category...butchered English. There is English writing on everything—restaurants, wastebaskets, t-shirts, silverware, you name it—and a lot of it is comically stilted or nonsensical. I think one of these items will be the treasured souvenir of my time here; I’ll have to choose carefully among the multitude of options. A couple favorites:
--the planter that says “Love House”
--a t-shirt proclaiming “Revolrution American Style”
--an anecdote from one of my veteran teacher friends: for an assignment asking students who they would pick if they could meet anyone, living or dead... “If I could meet anyone living or dead, I would choose to meet them living”
I hope to be able to post pictures soon...it’s been way too long, and there are lots to share. Another casualty of the internet snafu. Someday, this will just be a blip on the radar. It’d better be.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The Flip Side
Last night, I walked up to the university near my apartment and spent some time with trees and pretty buildings. I took a chance and walked home a different way, finding all kinds of businesses (many of them open at 10:30 on a Tuesday--Koreans really don’t ever sleep) and beginning to piece together a mental map of my neighborhood. Starting to make sense of things means starting to feel less surreal and more at home.
On Sunday, I completely forgot that I was on the other side of the world. Ramsey, Summer, and sometimes Amanda gave me a first-class introductory tour of the awesomeness that is Seoul. I got acquainted with basics—where to find international ATMs, riding the subway, how to locate a bibimbap restaurant (there’s one in my building!). I tried all kinds of Korean street food: fresh waffles with honey & cream (the best!), fruit on a stick, ginger & honey candy (sticks your teeth together in cartoonish fashion), and a spun-honey and nut confection that reminded me of Lebanese sweets. (I skipped the silkworm larvae) I met Insadong, one of the best shopping streets in Seoul. And I saw a startling number of Seoul’s primo attractions.
When I say Insadong is a shopping street, I don’t mean like Kensington High Street or 5th Avenue. I mean small shops, stands, and a nifty multi-story mall where the walkway is a spiraling ramp, so if you walk past all the stores you find yourself on the vertigo-inducing 5th floor. Tourists mix with Seoulites, so while you find postcards and souvenirs (and can stumble onto a traditional Korean drum demonstration), it’s not all schmaltz. If I’d had money, I could have knocked off both my Christmas and household shopping lists. My favorite was the chanting candymakers. They took a solid block of honey and spun it into thousands of strands before wrapping it around a nut paste, all while keeping up a bilingual sort of verbal Stomp: “Whooooaaaa! In English! Oh my God!” I recorded some of it, but always seemed to have the camera off during the best bits. We finished off with dinner at a traditional Korean restaurant—shoes off at the door, sitting on the floor—but with everything vegetarian. I finally got to try some of the dumplings I’ve been coveting on every cafeteria line. The large television broadcasting some kind of Buddhist cult programming at the end of our table really made the experience.
There is a lot of beauty to be found in Seoul between the featureless high-rises. I was surprised at how much green space we encountered, and am hoping it won’t be too hard to find when I need it. There isn’t a lot of grass, but I guess you can’t have everything. In the first park we came to, I had my introduction to storybook Asia. There was a stone pagoda with many stories, encased in glass. Koreans have numbered their national treasures in order of importance, and I’ve forgotten what number this was, but it’s less than 20. While we were looking at it, a man approached us and asked what country we were from, then pointed out the pagoda’s features and explained its significance. The entire story of Korea is wrapped around the lower part—you can follow it by walking around the thing repeatedly. The man even offered us some mouthwash to combat swine flu! In the evening, we walked to National Treasure #1, Namdaemun Gate, still listed in my guidebook, but burnt to the ground by a protestor last year. They’re rebuilding it (Asians take a very pragmatic attitude to these things), and in the meantime have covered the scaffolding with a mock-up of the gate, complete with lights that change color. Sounds gaudy, but it was actually quite fetching. Across from Namdaemun Gate is a huge boulevard that’s been recently covered with beautiful gardens and topiaries of Haechi, the symbol of Seoul, a creature that must have been invented by those responsible for the Teletubbies and Boobah. Again, it was really beautiful despite the schlock factor, and I definitely want to revisit. I also plan to be a regular at the Chyeoggi Cheon (sp?—I’m not very good at this stuff). It’s a recently resurrected stream flowing through the middle of Seoul, and the city has built a walkway along the entire thing. There are diversions all along the way—tiled murals, light shows, waterfalls—and merely being by running water is soothing. It was crowded of course—you get used to this quickly and learn not to mind—but really pleasant all the same. All along the way, Ramsey and Summer told me over and over how great a place this is to live, and I had no trouble seeing why. A busker sang under a bridge, and even though he was really awful, people clapped for him.
We finished the evening with a look at Dongdaemun Gate, National Treasure #2, I believe. It’s not a stone gate in the way you might picture, but a traditional Asian building with the tiled roof and the ornamentation, and remnants of the medieval wall around it (rebuilt of course). And at last, I realized, with conviction and a certain amount of surprise, that I’m in Asia! I went to bed really excited to be here.
Last night, I walked up to the university near my apartment and spent some time with trees and pretty buildings. I took a chance and walked home a different way, finding all kinds of businesses (many of them open at 10:30 on a Tuesday--Koreans really don’t ever sleep) and beginning to piece together a mental map of my neighborhood. Starting to make sense of things means starting to feel less surreal and more at home.
On Sunday, I completely forgot that I was on the other side of the world. Ramsey, Summer, and sometimes Amanda gave me a first-class introductory tour of the awesomeness that is Seoul. I got acquainted with basics—where to find international ATMs, riding the subway, how to locate a bibimbap restaurant (there’s one in my building!). I tried all kinds of Korean street food: fresh waffles with honey & cream (the best!), fruit on a stick, ginger & honey candy (sticks your teeth together in cartoonish fashion), and a spun-honey and nut confection that reminded me of Lebanese sweets. (I skipped the silkworm larvae) I met Insadong, one of the best shopping streets in Seoul. And I saw a startling number of Seoul’s primo attractions.
When I say Insadong is a shopping street, I don’t mean like Kensington High Street or 5th Avenue. I mean small shops, stands, and a nifty multi-story mall where the walkway is a spiraling ramp, so if you walk past all the stores you find yourself on the vertigo-inducing 5th floor. Tourists mix with Seoulites, so while you find postcards and souvenirs (and can stumble onto a traditional Korean drum demonstration), it’s not all schmaltz. If I’d had money, I could have knocked off both my Christmas and household shopping lists. My favorite was the chanting candymakers. They took a solid block of honey and spun it into thousands of strands before wrapping it around a nut paste, all while keeping up a bilingual sort of verbal Stomp: “Whooooaaaa! In English! Oh my God!” I recorded some of it, but always seemed to have the camera off during the best bits. We finished off with dinner at a traditional Korean restaurant—shoes off at the door, sitting on the floor—but with everything vegetarian. I finally got to try some of the dumplings I’ve been coveting on every cafeteria line. The large television broadcasting some kind of Buddhist cult programming at the end of our table really made the experience.
There is a lot of beauty to be found in Seoul between the featureless high-rises. I was surprised at how much green space we encountered, and am hoping it won’t be too hard to find when I need it. There isn’t a lot of grass, but I guess you can’t have everything. In the first park we came to, I had my introduction to storybook Asia. There was a stone pagoda with many stories, encased in glass. Koreans have numbered their national treasures in order of importance, and I’ve forgotten what number this was, but it’s less than 20. While we were looking at it, a man approached us and asked what country we were from, then pointed out the pagoda’s features and explained its significance. The entire story of Korea is wrapped around the lower part—you can follow it by walking around the thing repeatedly. The man even offered us some mouthwash to combat swine flu! In the evening, we walked to National Treasure #1, Namdaemun Gate, still listed in my guidebook, but burnt to the ground by a protestor last year. They’re rebuilding it (Asians take a very pragmatic attitude to these things), and in the meantime have covered the scaffolding with a mock-up of the gate, complete with lights that change color. Sounds gaudy, but it was actually quite fetching. Across from Namdaemun Gate is a huge boulevard that’s been recently covered with beautiful gardens and topiaries of Haechi, the symbol of Seoul, a creature that must have been invented by those responsible for the Teletubbies and Boobah. Again, it was really beautiful despite the schlock factor, and I definitely want to revisit. I also plan to be a regular at the Chyeoggi Cheon (sp?—I’m not very good at this stuff). It’s a recently resurrected stream flowing through the middle of Seoul, and the city has built a walkway along the entire thing. There are diversions all along the way—tiled murals, light shows, waterfalls—and merely being by running water is soothing. It was crowded of course—you get used to this quickly and learn not to mind—but really pleasant all the same. All along the way, Ramsey and Summer told me over and over how great a place this is to live, and I had no trouble seeing why. A busker sang under a bridge, and even though he was really awful, people clapped for him.
We finished the evening with a look at Dongdaemun Gate, National Treasure #2, I believe. It’s not a stone gate in the way you might picture, but a traditional Asian building with the tiled roof and the ornamentation, and remnants of the medieval wall around it (rebuilt of course). And at last, I realized, with conviction and a certain amount of surprise, that I’m in Asia! I went to bed really excited to be here.
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