Gratitude

If you read my very first entry for this blog back in September, you may remember that I said that, in coming to Korea, I hoped to experience things so completely foreign that they “would turn my worldview on its head.” To be honest, looking back on that statement, I’m not even sure what it was supposed to mean, or what my expectations truly were.  Was I expecting to be consistently shocked, fascinated, or appalled by the unfamiliarity of things?  Was I expecting a mythical land of shrouded mystery and dragon-filled folklore?  Exotic adventure?  Enlightenment?  I’m not entirely certain.  At the very least, I think I was expecting something unexpected – cliché, I know, but I don’t know how else to say it.  I think I had some pretty hazy notions of what Korea would be like before I got here – a fusion of the ultramodern and the exotically traditional.  Generally speaking, that perception is pretty close to reality.  But what I hadn’t anticipated was how quickly the novelty of it would wear off, how quickly I would adapt and begin to perceive the things around me as ordinary.  The unfamiliar has become familiar.  I’m reminded of an episode of Father Ted, an Irish sit-com from the 90s.  Ted and Dougal are on vacation, standing at a tourist site called St. Kevin’s Stump, looking very bored and unimpressed with the anticlimactic experience.  Dougal asks, “Are all holidays like this, Ted?”  Ted forlornly replies, “Actually…yeah.”

 Now I’m just living my day-to-day life more or less the way I would back home – I go to work, I come home, I make dinner (granted, what I eat and drink may be a little different, but not always), I play guitar, I might get together with friends to watch a movie or have a drink.  Is this really why I travelled all this way?  It feels like I should be doing more, like maybe if I took more initiative I could make my experience more meaningful.  But I’m not sure how to go about it.  I guess, in the end, the adventure of merely “traveling abroad” yields different results than the inevitable monotony of “living and working abroad.”

Every once in a while, however, Korea completely surprises me and presents me with an experience that instantly reminds me that I am, in fact, in a foreign country.  Take last week for instance.  A new wing of our school, which had been under construction since before my arrival, was finally completed and ready for a grand opening.  So during seventh period, my co-teacher Mr. Jung told me and two other native English teachers to come with him to the conference room downstairs.  All he said was, “Formal ceremony.  We go downstairs, eat tteok.”  (Tteok is a sort of chewy cake made from rice, and I’d had a light lunch, so I was instantly on board).  We followed him downstairs, totally unprepared for what we were about to walk in on.

When we arrived at the conference room, the ceremony was already under way.  It took me a few moments to completely take in what I was seeing, for at first I was sure my eyes were playing tricks on me.  I saw a bunch of people standing around, silently looking in the direction of a low table, lavishly set and laden with candles, bowls of fruit and dried fish, and, surprisingly….a severed pig’s head.

“Is that what I think it is?” mumbled Wiley, my co-teacher from Indiana.  I’m sure he took my stunned silence as an affirmation.

Before the table, spread out on the ground, was a mat.  One by one, the school’s top administrators and several teachers approached the table, bowed to the pig’s head, then kneeled on the mat.  They then took a bowl of rice wine (I think) and carefully spilled a little on the ground to each side of the table.  Next, they began prostrating themselves on the ground like Muslims at prayer time.  Once….twice…three times, each person brought his or her forehead to the floor before this strange display.  In the final stage they would rise, take money out of their pockets, and stuff it into every available orifice in the pig’s face.  I was at a loss for words.

I soon learned that this ceremony is called Gosa, and it’s a ritual for giving thanks and requesting blessings, safety, good fortune, and prosperity.  It’s a shamanistic tradition that is usually done at the outset of something – the opening of a new business, for example, or even moving into a new apartment.  In this case, the ceremony was expressing gratitude for the safe, successful completion of the school’s new wing, and it was also a wish for the continued prosperity of the school.  It is my understanding that this ritual is observed more as a folk tradition than a strictly held belief, more superstition than devotion.  Personally, I had not yet witnessed anything of this nature in Korea.  The sight of respected professionals in nice suits prostrating themselves before a grotesque pig’s head seemed oddly incongruous, but upon reflection, I’m not sure why I was so surprised.  Hadn’t this been exactly the kind of “completely foreign” thing I had expected to encounter here?

After the ceremony, we took a brief tour of the new facilities.  We then returned to the conference room to find the tables laid out with plates of tteok, fruit, bottles of makgeolli (rice wine), and thin, bite-sized pieces of unidentifiable grayish-pink meat.

I nudged Wiley, indicating the plate of mystery meat.  “What is that?”

His response was another question, “Uhh…what happened to that pig’s head that was in here before?”

Yep, you guessed it.  The unidentifiable meat was indeed the cut-up remnants of the pig’s head – I think it was mostly the ears we were eating. I watched the principal pick up a piece with chopsticks, dab it in some salt, and pop it in his mouth.  He then smiled at me and gestured toward the plate.  My turn.  I didn’t let my reluctance show, even though the sight of the stuff, frankly, grossed me out.  I wasn’t sure if it was even cooked or not because of the color (turns out, it was steamed).  I made sure I rolled it around generously in the salt before placing it in my mouth.  First impression:  cold and clammy, the flavor initially overwhelmed by the salt.  Then I began to chew.  It was simultaneously chewy (because of the fat) and crunchy (because of the cartilage).  When the flavor came through, it was pretty bland and porky, but not unbearable.  The texture was the real killer.  The worst part was that it required quite a bit of chewing before I could swallow it.  I got it down as fast as I could, before the gag reflex had a chance to kick in.  The best part of all this was watching the look on Wiley’s face when his turn came.  I hope I was better at masking my displeasure than him.

Despite the unpleasant snack, I was really happy that I was present for this ceremony.  Once I moved beyond my initial shock, I did find the whole thing extremely fascinating.  It was a great example of that whole “modernity meets tradition” aspect of Korea that I mentioned a few paragraphs back.  It was also my first encounter with shamanism.  Plus, being a part of the ceremony with the other teachers made me feel more like a part of the staff rather than an outsider.  And that was nice.


Anyway, on to other things.  Tis the season to be thankful.  Or so they say. I tend to think of myself as a fairly reflective person, but if I’m being honest, I have to admit I usually allow Thanksgiving to come and go without giving much thought to anything other than food and football.  This year was different though.  Every Thanksgiving of my life has been spent with family and close friends, and there’s nothing like spending the holiday thousands of miles away from home to put it all in perspective.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t miserably homesick there for a few days, missing my family, craving pumpkin pie, getting all nostalgic looking at the photos posted on facebook of my Washington friends enjoying their feast.  But, honestly, I still managed to have a great Thanksgiving.  The weekend prior to the actual holiday I met up with a bunch of friends (other foreign teachers I’d met at orientation) at Nate’s place in Yesan.  A majority of those present were Americans, but there were also some Brits, Kiwis, and Aussies -- some them enjoying their very first Thanksgiving with us.  Our feast lacked some of the Thanksgiving staples (like pumpkin pie, sadly), but we still had stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes (with cheese and bacon because, hey…it’s the American way).  And I showed up with a hefty supply of sweet potato casserole, my mom’s recipe, which I’ve managed to make myself at every single Thanksgiving that I’ve celebrated away from my family.  The whole affair was like a little slice of home.  It was comforting and awesome.  Margeaux, who’s from New Zealand, even brought a homemade pavlova – a delicious NZ dessert which I hadn’t been able to enjoy since I was there in 2006.  It was like icing on the cake (pun intended, I guess).

Pavlova!

My somewhat traditional, yet still
pretty foreign, Thanksgiving dinner.

My birthday dinner with friends at
Mt. Fishtail Indian Restaurant in Cheonan

So this year, I’m acknowledging that I have a lot to be thankful for.  I’m thankful for having a loving extended family, who is always so supportive of me, even when I’m hatching crazy plans to leave them behind to chase adventure in far-away destinations.  I’m thankful for the wonderful, loyal friends that I have scattered all over the globe, some of whom I’ve not seen for many years but nevertheless feel a strong kinship with still.  I’m thankful for the awesome people that I’ve met here in Korea – many of whom traveled on trains and buses to come to Cheonan and take me out for dinner and drinks on my birthday a few weeks ago.  I’m thankful that I finally have that full-time teaching job I’ve been trying for years to procure.  I’m thankful that I’m here in Korea, living out my desire to travel and my dream to teach in a foreign country, especially because there were so many circumstances that nearly prevented this experience from happening.



It occurs to me that the Gosa ceremony, which I initially found so bizarre, is not actually all that different from our American Thanksgiving.  Swap the steamed pig head stuffed with money for a roasted turkey stuffed with stuffing, and the spirit or sentiment is pretty much the same.  So, I am especially thankful for this moment of clarity, for I think there is wisdom in the realization that, no matter where I go or who I meet, certain things seem to be universal:  friendship, love, gratitude, hope.

I’m also grateful for this opportunity for self-examination, to reassess why I’m here and what I hope to gain through this experience.  And I’m thankful that I have plenty of time left to figure it all out.  I’m sure there’s a lesson somewhere in this lull I’m experiencing at the moment.  I’ll continue to search for the deeper meaning to my journey here in Asia, and I’m confident that I will find it eventually.  Clearly, I’ve got some work to do.

Beginner's Guide to Teaching in Korea

UPDATE 12/5/11:  Starting in 2012, the Chungnam Office of Education will stipulate that all foreign English teachers must have some sort of certification -- a teaching license, or some kind of TEFL or TESOL certificate -- in order to be hired.  As far as I know, this only applies to Chungnam Province (where I teach), but similar changes may be coming to other provinces in the near future.  It also only applies to public schools in the province, not hagwons.  This was just announced last weekend, and I wanted you all to know.

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I've had several friends tell me that they're considering coming here to teach, and they've asked me for information and advice. So I decided to take the time to type up a detailed 'Beginner's Guide' and adapt it into an entry for my blog.  So here it is -- everything you need to know about teaching English in South Korea. I want to be clear that this account is based on my own experiences and those related to me by other foreign teachers; they are not to be taken as universal.


Things You Need to Understand -- Challenges and Benefits

If you're planning on teaching abroad, Korea is easily one of the best places for saving money, since they cover a lot of your living expenses (unless you want to go to the United Arab Emirates or somewhere else in the Middle East...they pay outrageously well, but require a higher level of credentials). A standard contract will reimburse you for your flights, give you a settlement allowance, pay for your housing, and reward you with a bonus at the end of your contract, all on top of a salary of around 2 million won ($2000) per month, give or take (it’ll be higher if you are more qualified and/or experienced). My only bills are for my utilities and my phone.

Another bonus is that the jobs are less demanding compared to teaching jobs in the US. You'll have a 40-hour a week schedule, but you'll only teach a maximum of 22 hours. You also get 18 paid vacation days and lengthy school holidays. The attitude and ability of the students can vary widely though. Since I actually have a teaching background as well as a degree in English, I got placed in a prestigious foreign language high school where the students are gifted and highly motivated. If you get placed in some out-of-the-way agricultural community, however, you'll find that many of your students couldn’t care less about learning English.  This will obviously create some friction in the classroom and make your job more challenging.

Generally speaking, you can either teach in a public school or a hagwon (private academy). I personally recommend going with a public school -- in addition to getting more vacation time, the contracts are standard and almost always honored, whereas the hagwons are a crap shoot -- some of them are great and pay better than public schools, but I've also heard a lot of horror stories about others that take unfair advantage of their foreign teachers and even renege on pay and benefits (they are, after all, for-profit organizations). Most public schools will ask you to follow a textbook, which makes planning easy. Your job is to come up with fun activities to help the students learn the textbook material. The more creative you are, the more successful you'll be. It should be noted that the Korean approach to ESL instruction is extremely narrow and counter-intuitive, which causes frustration for a lot of foreign teachers, so be prepared for that. It's not unusual for schools to expect the students to memorize long textbook passages, which seems cruel and unnecessary, since it stresses the students out and doesn’t actually help with fluency at all. It flies in the face of Western educational philosophy, so it's a hard pill to swallow, especially for trained teachers or those with experience in education. Of course, the severity of this varies from school to school -- I've been lucky enough to land in a school that adheres to a more American-esque curriculum and approach. My classes are taught more like Language Arts classes in the US.  In other schools, this would never be possible due to the comparatively lower level of the students’ English language ability.  I am also lucky to have other native speakers teaching in my school.  In most cases, you will not have that luxury – you will likely be the only native English speaker in the building.

Another thing that you need to understand is that Korean students work much harder than you or I have ever had to. By the time they reach middle school, they are expected to forgo all social and recreational activities in order to become study robots. Most students will go to their public school for the regular school day, then go straight to a hagwon in the evening. A 12-14 hour no-fun schedule is pretty typical. My school is a boarding school, so it's a little different, but my students' day starts around 7:45 and ends around midnight. Studying is their entire life; it seems pretty masochistic.  (Here’s a great 12-second video that pokes fun at this system).  Long after I go home in the late afternoon to relax, make dinner, have a beer, fool around on the internet….my students are still at school studying their butts off.  They are under a tremendous amount of pressure to prepare for a college entrance exam, which is taken in the third year of high school and is only offered once a year.  How a student performs will determine which college he or she gets into, which in this country can make or break your entire future.  There are far too many stories of students attempting suicide after doing poorly on the test.  It’s pretty insane.

Schooling is also very competitive here.  There’s a lot of stock placed on a student’s class rank, so cheating and copying work is rarely an issue.  However, Korean students have this huge fear of giving wrong answers or appearing as if they don’t know what’s going on – this sometimes prevents them from asking questions when they don’t understand something, or volunteering answers when you ask questions (many teachers have become familiar with the dreaded ‘Korean stare’).  In most cases, they will do anything to avoid standing out (which isn’t a virtue in this culture – conformity is what’s valued).  This can be extremely vexing for inexperienced teachers, but those with some know-how can usually make due.

Another thing you should be aware of:  some people, depending on their school and co-teacher, feel as though they are being under-utilized and feel guilty that they aren’t working very hard.  I’ve heard some people make comments about how they feel as though they’re ripping off the Korean government.  The extent of these sentiments varies greatly on a case-by-case basis.  Some teachers are strongly encouraged to just play games with the kids and make their classes fun, so they don’t actually teach much real material (which is awesome if you’re lazy, not so much if you’re ambitious).  Some of the worse cases I’ve heard describe Native English teachers whose main job consists of correcting the grammar and pronunciation of their Korean co-teacher.  I personally have not experienced these problems, but they’re definitely out there.  In some schools, you might only see a certain class once a week, which causes progress and growth to occur at a much slower rate than you would probably like.  So it’s totally a toss up.  If you’re ambitious, you may find yourself feeling frustrated that you can’t fully use your skills or make more of an impact on student learning.

One final common complaint about Korean schools is that the chain of command is complex and inefficient, which can be rather annoying (It’s largely a result of a Confuscianist top-down approach to authority and seniority).  Usually, you will be the very last one to hear important information, and stuff gets sprung on you at the last minute.  You may show up to school on a given day to find out that your schedule has been changed, or that you need to cover another teacher’s classes and you have 10 minutes to come up with a plan.  It's just the Korean way, and you learn pretty quickly to just roll with it.  If you’re smart, you’ll keep a couple of emergency lesson plans tucked away somewhere in your desk – like a grammar review or a game of some sort that requires little preparation.

Above, I’ve tried to be honest about some of the challenges you may encounter if you come teach in Korea.  But I want to be honest about the positives as well, and there are many.  You can have a lot of fun in this job, and you will have the opportunity to build some really great student-teacher relationships.  Korean students are very sweet and funny, and they will be completely fascinated by you and your strange foreign ways.  For the first couple of weeks I was at my school, I felt like a celebrity.  They are very inquisitive, so they will challenge your knowledge and teach you a lot about Korea in return – most of what I’ve learned about this country and culture has come from them.  Korean society traditionally has a pretty narrow, conservative perspective on things, so you’ll be in a prime position to open up the students’ minds and expose them to new ideas, new ways of seeing and being.   I find the job to be pretty laid back and easy compared to teaching jobs back home – there is far less paperwork and pressure, and you aren’t expected to do much in the way of grading or evaluation.  Instead, you can fully dedicate your time to creating the best possible experience for your students.  You have ample time to plan, so you rarely have to take your work home with you.  Your Korean coteachers will probably be very welcoming and invite you out for dinner and drinks, and even sometimes other things like hiking or cultural events.  If you demonstrate an openness and willingness to learn about the language and the culture, you will be endlessly rewarded.

I feel like I should emphasize that it takes a certain kind of person to flourish here.  Many people love it here -- I know expats that have been here for years, are married to Koreans, and speak the language fluently.  But to be perfectly honest, I have to mention that there are also those who hate it here -- I know people who have bailed on their contracts early and skipped the country.  A lot of it has to do with what kind of school you end up in and what your co-teachers are like, and these are things that are largely out of your control.  It's a little bit of a gamble, but life is more exciting when you take chances.  I got really lucky.  Hopefully you do too.  As long as you keep an open mind, are willing to step outside your comfort zone, have a little patience and a sense of humor, and can put up with a little bullshit -- you'll be fine.


How to Land a Job

If you make the decision to teach in Korea, do your homework before you choose a recruiter.  The ones with established reputations should be easy to vet online.  Do NOT, under any circumstances, pay a fee to a recruiter for their services.  The way things work here, the recruiters make a commission from the schools for every candidate they recruit, so their services should be entirely free to you.  If they try to charge you, they’re scamming you.  Some recruiters are catch-alls, while others will specialize in a certain kind of school (hagwon, public, or university) or a certain city or province – so again, do your homework, especially if you have your heart set on a certain type of placement.  When I first contacted my chosen recruiter (I see no reason to keep it a secret – my recruiter was Alistair at Korean Horizons, and I give him my full endorsement) I told him upfront that I wanted to be in a public high school in a small to medium-sized city.  I initially found my recruiter after simply posting my resume on eslcafe.com – the emails from recruitment agencies started immediately pouring in, and it was just a matter of doing a little online research and selecting the one that I felt was the most reputable and the best fit for me.  Once you’ve made your choice, your recruiter should help you with the entire process – completing the formal applications, preparing for the phone interview, applying for a background check and a visa, and all that good stuff.

Another piece of advice -- start the paperwork process as early as possible, because it can be a bit of a nightmare. It takes 2-3 months to get an FBI background check, so applying for one should be your first step, and it would be ideal to do so like 4 months before you plan to depart. Trust me on this. I only gave myself like 2 and half months, and the stress almost killed me.  Also, the earlier you get your application in, the more placement options will be available.  A majority of contracts start in either March (start of 1st semester) or August (start of second semester), but there are plenty of exceptions, and recruiters are usually willing to accept your application whenever you’re willing to submit it.


Living in Korea

Living in Korea is both endlessly fascinating and endlessly frustrating. The language is extremely difficult to learn (in my humble opinion), but you honestly don't really need to learn it before you get here. People will be eager to help you out, and learning just a little can go a really long way.  I've been here 3 months and haven't learned more than a few basic phrases, and I’ve been getting along OK. There’s no doubt, however, that learning more Korean would make my life easier because it would decrease my dependence on my Korean friends and coworkers.  There’s a long winter break coming up, and I plan to use the extra time to get more serious about learning Korean.  It is also very useful to learn how to read Korean characters, and it's actually much easier to pick up than the rest of the language. Most people can teach themselves how to do it in a few days.  There are some great tutorials for this online.  Try TTMIK.com (Talk To Me In Korean).

Korea is a really beautiful country with lots of mountains, beaches, temples, and museums. It’s culture and history are rich and complex.  Korean cities, however, all look exactly the same, and they aren't very attractive, if you ask me. During the country’s big economic boom in the 1980s, it seems that they favored utility over aesthetics when it came to architecture, but I guess there's nothing wrong with that. The climate is very similar to the American Midwest  most of the year, except for the super high humidity and the monsoon rains during the second half of summer. The air quality can be pretty poor during certain times of year (yellow dust, anyone?), but this usually only affects people with respiratory problems like asthma.  Smoking is common, and is still permitted in all bars and some restaurants and coffeeshops.  Korean cuisine might take some getting used to (hope you can handle spicy food), but it's usually pretty healthy and there are plenty of dishes that I've come to absolutely love and crave. Korean beer totally sucks, I'm sorry to say.  American-style fast food is also pretty easy to find in any decent-sized city (if that’s you’re thing), and Koreans do fried chicken especially well. I’ve heard it said that this is a hard place to be a vegetarian, but I can’t really speak from experience on that topic.  There are coffee shops everywhere. Transportation is cheap and efficient, and with it being such a small country, you would be hard-pressed to find a destination in South Korea that you can't reach in 3 hours or less. Health care is very affordable.  The people are generally very friendly, though their often hypocritical and closed-minded social conservatism can be a bone of contention for many people (for example, homosexuals are generally considered to be mentally ill). But it has to be said -- Koreans of both sexes are really attracted to foreigners. Seriously.

I guess that's everything you need to know. For what it's worth, I'll say that I had originally planned on being here for a single year, but I'm already considering sticking around for a second. I really love my school, and the money's too good to pass up. Plus, it's still really hard to find a teaching job in the States, so I'm in no hurry to return to that job market. I wouldn’t say that I’m in love with Korea like I was New Zealand or Washington State, but I definitely don't dislike it either. Bottom line: if you want to teach abroad while saving enough money to do more traveling, pay off debts, etc....Korea can't really be beat.

If you have any questions, feel free to post them in the comments.

Cheers, and good luck!

The Demilitarized Zone

Did you know that the world’s most heavily militarized, armed, and fortified border is also a major tourist attraction?  It may sound crazy, but it’s true.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to tour the somewhat ironically named ‘demilitarized zone’ (DMZ) that separates North and South Korea.  I’ll tell you all about it shortly.  But first, a little history lesson….

Koreans have a very complex and peculiar relationship with their past.  This is one of the world’s oldest living civilizations; records go back thousands of years, and throughout this time span, the Koreans have remained a solidly unique people, with a cultural heritage that distinguishes them from their more well-known neighbors.  This is pretty remarkable considering Korea has always been in the shadow giants – more powerful nations like China, Japan, and Russia (not to mention the good ol’ US of A) – that have repeatedly battered, abused, and exploited this poor, vulnerable peninsula over the centuries. Yet, Koreans do not really go out of their way to celebrate their incredible history – precisely because it is filled with so much pain.  In the 20^th century alone, these people suffered under a shockingly brutal occupation by the Japanese, the horrors of war, communism, a dictatorship, political violence, and national division.  As an outside observer, it saddens me that Koreans, when looking back at their past, don’t find much to be proud of.  Instead, looking backwards usually brings to the surface very deeply rooted feelings of sadness and anger.

The result is that the Koreans are a very forward-looking people.  Rather than thinking of themselves as an ancient people, they rather prefer to think of themselves as a nation reborn.  In a single generation, South Korea industrialized and made a historic shift from dictatorship to democracy.  Today, it boasts the world’s 11^th largest economy – incredible, given that the population is only around 50 million, it has less land area than Ohio, and is pretty lacking when it comes to natural resources.  Even more incredible when one considers the rampant poverty that characterized the country only half a century ago.  South Korea’s rise out of poverty is truly one of the modern world’s greatest success stories. 

But it’s only the lower half of the peninsula that is thriving.  North Korea, on the other hand, exists in darkness and isolation, cut off from the world and modern conveniences  by a delusional despot of a leader that allows his people to go hungry while living an opulent lifestyle and financing a massive army.  It has one of the lowest human rights records on the planet.  The contrast between the northern and southern halves of the Korean peninsula are therefore unbelievably stark. 

So, how did it come to be this way?  Well, it began with the annexation of Korea by Japan in the early 20^th century.  Japan’s occupation was atrociously brutal, and many Koreans still haven’t forgiven the Japanese for the horrors the country suffered during those years (1910-1945).  An inherent distrust, and in some cases a distinct hatred, of the Japanese still lingers in the Korean psyche over six decades later.  The occupation ended with Japan’s surrender at the end of World War II.  The fate of the Korean peninsula was then placed in the hands of the victorious allies. 

The escalating Cold War between the US and the Soviet Union resulted in the two superpowers splitting the peninsula into its two halves and creating separate governments:  a democratic US-backed south, and a communist Soviet-backed North.  Both sides claimed sovereignty over the whole peninsula, which led to the Korean War in 1950.  The war claimed millions of lives (exactly how many is disputed…most reports claim anywhere from 3 to 6 million) and divided Korea along ideological lines.

The war ended in a ceasefire agreement in 1953, but no peace treaty was ever signed.  So the two countries are technically still at war, though hostilities are sporadic and uncommon these days.  The armistice agreement resulted in a line being drawn across the peninsula at the 38^th parallel.  Each side agreed to pull its troops back to at least 2 km from the line, resulting in a 4-km-wide no man’s land of landmines and barbed-wire that exists to this day:  the demilitarized zone. 

Fences and barbed wire enclose Imjingak Reunification Park

A South Korean guard tower along the Imjin River

As I mentioned before, the Koreans are a very forward-looking people.  Never has this been more apparent to me than while visiting the DMZ.  I expected to encounter a lot of pro-south propaganda.  Instead, everywhere I went, there were monuments of peace, with the emphasis always being on the hope for reunification.  The division of the peninsula severed families and keeps them apart, an especially devastating circumstance for a society that values unity and family ties above all things.  This is still a very painful reality for most Korean families. 

"Let the Iron Horse run again"

The first stop on my DMZ tour was at Imjingak – a peace park in Paju that was built to console those unable to return to their hometowns, friends, and families because of the division.   From here I was able to view the Bridge of Freedom over the Imjin River– so named because this is where American and Korean POWs entered the South at the “end” of the Korean War.  Obviously, it can no longer be crossed, the way being blocked by a barricade of steel and barbed-wire.  The bridge, the barrier, and a nearby fence were festooned with an array of colorful flags and ribbons featuring hand-written messages.  I sincerely wish I was able to tell you what the messages said, but I cannot.  Also at Imjingak was the rusting remains of an old locomotive that now serves as a symbolic monument.  The train once crossed the Imjin bridge into the North, and was even in service during the war, amidst the rain of bombs and gunfire.  Now it sits stationary, it’s deterioration a testament to the many long years that have passed since the war, awaiting the day when it can finally complete its journey.  A nearby plaque is inscribed with the words, “Let the Iron Horse run again!.”  There was also a shop here – one of the few places where one can buy North Korean goods,  mostly things like ginseng, soju and other spirits, and stamps.  I bought some authentic North Korean currency as a souvenir.

The Bridge of Freedom over the Imjin River

The barricade blocking pedestrians from crossing
the Bridge of Freedom on foot.

Authentic North
Korean currency

After lunch, we made another interesting stop at what is known as the 3^rd tunnel.  In the 1970s and 80s, the South discovered several underground tunnels that the North Korean military had burrowed underneath the DMZ into South Korea.  They know of four such tunnels, but it is suspected that there may be more that are yet undiscovered.  One of the tunnels is large enough for vehicles and artillery to pass through, as well as an estimated 30,000 troops.  It is said that, had the South been unaware of the tunnels, it would have been possible for multiple divisions of North Korean troops to invade the South within an hour.  From there, it would’ve been a quick, easy march to Seoul. 

Fortunately, the South DID discover the tunnels, and the invasion never occurred.  The North maintains that the tunnels were dug for mining purposes, though no traces of coal have been found.  And now tourists can go into them.  So I donned a hard hat, walked down a long, slanted entrance way, and soon found myself in a crude tunnel about 2m wide and 2 m high.  Deep beneath the DMZ, I was allowed to walk several hundred meters into the tunnel before finding the way blocked by the first of three concrete barricades built by the South to seal the way.  Along the way, one can still see the holes drilled into the granite for dynamite – all of them pointing in a southward direction.

Visitors attempting to take
pictures from behind the
clearly marked 'no photo'
line

Guards keeping a close
watch, making sure no one
takes a photo on the
wrong side of the line

Our next stop was a viewing platform, prominently perched on a hillside, where on a clear day one can take a gander at North Korea across the DMZ.  Unfortunately for us, this was not a clear day, so our view was very limited.  The platform is equipped with dozens of those coin-operated binoculars for enhanced viewing, which made little difference on a day like this.  We were able to make out some buildings far off in the hazy distance, perhaps some kind of industrial complex. Not much else was visible.  Even if we’d had a good view, we wouldn’t have been allowed to take pictures.  The South Korean authorities were very serious about this – so much so that they had two military guards stationed on the platform, patrolling through the crowd of tourists ensuring no one broke the ‘no photo’ rule.  Some brave souls still in snuck a few clandestine shots while the guards backs were turned, but I wasn’t willing to risk having my camera confiscated – not for a nondescript photo of misty hillsides and trees.  The amusing thing was that there was a bright yellow line painted straight across the platform marking off the ‘no photo zone.’  Of course, from behind the line it was impossible to get a good shot of anything, but that didn’t stop people (including myself) from trying.  So people queued up, toes on the line, and stood on their tiptoes with their cameras held high above their heads, snapping shots at random.  Some people were even lifting each other up to get a more clear shot.  Seeing the contrast of such silly tourist activity in a place so militarized and politically charged was bemusing.  It’s hard to remember exactly where you are amid such antics. 

The last stop of the DMZ tour was, of all places, a train station.  Not some old station with some kind of historic significance, but a brand-spanking-new one.  Why?  Because Dorasan Station was built purely on the faith and hope that the two Koreas will inevitably be reconciled and reunited – sooner rather than later.  It’s a huge, modern, state-of-the-art train station located just a few hundred meters from the southern edge of the DMZ – it’s shiny and spotless, because, despite being fully functional, there’s really no reason for anyone to use it….yet.  Instead, it is frequented by tourists like yours truly.  It was almost eerie, being in a station that was so quiet and empty, without the hustle bustle of travelers and commuters hurrying around, or the sounds of the departure/arrival announcements.  The station’s existence, at least for the time being, seems to be largely symbolic, though when the border opens and the station becomes functional, it’ll serve an important purpose for customs, processing travelers arriving from China, Russia, and of course, North Korea.  Once this happens, South Korea’s rail network will be connected to the rest of the expansive Trans-Eurasian network; one will be able to take the train all the way from Busan to Western Europe.  But until then, Dorasan Station, the last stop from the South, stands empty, awaiting the day it can become the first stop to the North.

The interior of Dorasan Station

One day, travelers will be able to
reach the North Korean capital
by train from here.

When the line is completed,
South Korea will cease to be cut
off from the rest of the continent's
transportation network.

This was the extent of our DMZ tour.  There are other tour companies that, for a higher fee than we paid, will take you more places – such as a joint security area where diplomats from North and South meet, and a “peace village” that is actually located within the DMZ.  I will admit that a day spent touring the DMZ won’t be the most exciting day of your life, but it definitely makes for an interesting and educational experience, especially if you’re interested in modern Asian history.  It’s also a day best spent with friends.  I wouldn’t have enjoyed the trip as much were it not for the company – friends keeping the atmosphere light with their skeptical mocking of propaganda and propensity for turning serious monuments into ridiculous photo props.  Ultimately, this is an experience one can only have on the Korean peninsula, for there is no other place on earth quite like the Korean Demilitarized Zone. 

"Wow...I'm really in Asia." -- A mountain temple, a traditional folk village, a national hero's elaborate shrine.

So, it occurred to me, upon reviewing my previous blog posts, that I hadn’t really put a lot of effort into interacting with Korean culture in those first few weeks.  I mean, drinking with other foreigners and watching rugby isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘immersion.’  At any rate, since then I’ve begun to have what I consider to be more authentic experiences.   But the truth is, it’s hard.  Korea is a tough nut to crack.  The culture is hard to pin down and difficult to access without help.  Since it’s impossible for me to be anything other than an outsider, I need to be befriended by Koreans who can bring me into the fold and really show me what this country is all about.  So far, that hasn’t happened.  The closest I’ve gotten is a few dinners with some of my Korean co-teachers, which were nice and all, but I know there must be more to this millennia-old culture than food and dining etiquette. 

Still, I’ve managed to learn some things about Korean history and see some interesting sights on my own.  My first noteworthy solo adventure came a few weeks ago when I decided to sample some of this country’s outdoor offerings. 

Korea is a very mountainous land, and if you know me at all, you know that mountains make me extraordinarily happy.  I don’t think I’ve yet stood in a spot in this country without being able to see peaks somewhere within the span of the horizon.  I knew about this before coming here, but I had for some inexplicable reason deluded myself into thinking that Korea’s mountains would be smaller and somehow less impressive than what I had grown used to in Washington.  I am pleased to report that this is simply not true.  The mountains here are every bit as dramatic and beautiful as any I’ve seen.  There is one regrettable difference though.  In Washington, when you stand on a summit, you are often granted a view that takes in only more wild, uninhabited peaks and ridges.  No such wilderness seems to exist in Korea; at least, I’ve not found it yet.  The population density doesn’t permit such luxuries, I guess.  From the top of Mt. Gyeryongsan, where I went for my first major hike, I was treated to some truly gorgeous views, but I had to make a conscious effort to ignore the high-rises visible in the distance.

I woke up early on a Saturday and caught a KTX train to Daejeon.  From there, I hopped on a bus, and an hour later I was disembarking at the base of Mt. Gyeryongsan National Park, one of Korea’s oldest national parks.  I was greeted by a sight that made me groan with disappointment:  a massive hoard of people, decked out in fancy, brightly-colored hiking gear.  I usually try to seek out places where I can find solitude, but I think that may prove difficult to do here.  Fortunately, my disappointment soon faded as I escaped the crowd and began to walk around the little village at the base of the mountain.  It was still morning, my favorite time of day, and the weather was absolutely perfect.  This little village was bustling with activity.  It was the first place I’d been in Korea that didn’t feel totally commercial and touristy.  It felt more genuine.  It’s hard to explain why.  I was the only white person around, for one thing, but that isn’t actually all that unusual.  There were small shops and restaurants, and a picturesque little stream running along the main road.  Old women were selling their farm fresh produce on the sidewalk.  Old men lounged lazily smoking and eyeing this odd waygook in their midst.  I bought a coffee and just sat for half an hour content to people watch. 

Eventually I roused myself and entered the national park.  I soon came upon my first temple – Donghaksa.  It was a sight to behold – a beautifully colorful and complex cluster of old buildings with curving slopes nestled in a verdant forest at the base of towering mountains.  This is what Asia is supposed to look like – the cliché postcard version that I didn’t even realize I’d been looking for.  It was one of those moments where I found myself suddenly looking around, thinking “Wow…I’m really in Asia.”

Donghaksa Temple

I’d never been to a real Buddhist temple before, so I found everything about the experience interesting.  I didn’t have many preconceived notions…except for maybe one.  I never expected to see female monks.  But they were there – heads shaved, clothed in loose grey garments, wearing the stereotypical conical hats.  In fact, ALL the monks I saw were women.  I’d never heard of such a thing, so I was baffled.  It wasn’t until that evening when I had time to do some research online that I learned that Donghaksa Temple is the oldest existing temple of it’s kind – for hundreds of years it has served as an academic institution for the education of female monks of the Jogye order, a sect that only exists in Korea, and the only one of its kind in the world. 

A photo that attempts to
capture the "steepness" of
the trail

The rough and rocky trail

After poking about the temple for a bit, I moved on, and the really punishing part of the ascent up the mountain began shortly thereafter.  I think it’s safe to say that I underestimated the difficulty of this hike.  On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the most difficult, this one was rated a 4.  Since I’m a pretty experienced hiker, I didn’t expect to have any trouble.  Well, this trail was not like the ones back home.  The pathway was constructed of broken boulders and stones that lay about in uneven jumbles – not very kind on the feet.  Another thing that became painfully clear was that Koreans apparently don’t believe in switchbacks.  The path continued in a more of less linear fashion, adhering to the contours of the mountain.  Some places were incredibly steep.  When the trail became too steep for normal hiking, there were stairs – sometimes hewn directly from the rock, and in other places with metal steps and railing.  Some spots were even so steep that the stairs ceased to be stairs and essentially became ladders.  I think I’m in pretty good shape, but the climb humbled me.  My hiking experience hadn’t really prepared me for this kind of trail.  Koreans, on the other hand, seem to be used to this type of thing.  As I neared the top, sweating and panting with extremely sore leg muscles, I actually got PASSED by a pair of middle-aged Korean women.  That was a bit of a blow to the old ego.

All this was forgotten when I reached the top.  The view from the summit was marvelous – jagged peaks jutting up out of the hazy valley into a clear blue autumn sky.  It was around this time that my stomach started growling and I realized that in my haste to leave in the morning, I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I still had a lot of ground to cover, so I didn’t linger long.  I still had to reach an additional peak before I could start descending.

The next 2km of the hike were the best part, because I was able to follow the ridge and keep an open view of the surrounding landscape, which kept changing as I hiked.  By the time I reached the junction of the spur trail that led to the second peak, I hesitated.  I was exhausted and hungry and so I contemplated skipping the spur trail and the summit in favor of continuing on and reaching the bottom sooner.  As I stood there trying to make up my mind, a solitary woman passed me and continued up the spur trail without stopping.  She wasn’t even sweating.  At that point, my ego kicked in and I pushed myself up to the summit in spite of the sounds of protest that were issuing from my empty stomach.

My descent down the mountain was not graceful – more like a boulder rolling downhill.  I let my momentum carry me, driven by the thought of the bubbling bowl of haejangguk and the hot odeng-on-a-stick that was waiting for me in the village at the bottom.  My heavy plodding combined with the rocky, uneven terrain caused some pain to flare up in my right foot, which had just barely recovered from a recent injury.  By the time I reached the village, I was a little worse for the wear, but alive nonetheless. 

So that was my first Korean mountain hike.  Number two is coming up this weekend – Seoraksan National Park in Gangwon Province.  I’m sure I’ll be writing about it soon.  I went into a bit more detail about the hike than I had intended and now my brain is tired, and I haven’t saved much energy for writing about all the other experiences I intended to tell you about.  But just as I forced myself up that second summit, I’m going to push on now for the fear that, if I don’t write about these things now, I never will. 

In addition to Donghaksa Temple, I’ve had two other cultural experiences that I’d like to share.  The first one was the International Dance Festival which was held right here in Cheonan.  To be honest, I hadn’t really planned on attending.  But in the end, I didn’t really have a choice.  I was attempting to take the bus into the city to meet up with some friends at a hookah bar for a couple of drinks and a smoke, when the bus suddenly came up against a wall of people and had to reroute.  It was the first night of the festival and there was a parade going on.  The road the bus needed to take to reach my destination was closed off, so the bus driver abruptly stopped a block away from Cheonan Station and made everyone get off the bus.  By total luck, I soon ran into one of the people I was supposed to be meeting – she hadn’t been able to make it all the way downtown either.  At that point, we resolved to walk the remaining distance.  So we basically walked along the same road as the parade and got to see some of the action.  Since I can’t understand Korean and can’t read it very well either, I was unable to tell what countries, provinces, etc. each of the performance groups was from.  I did get to hear some cool traditional music, see some crazy dance styles that I can’t even begin to describe, and a giant mechanical dragon that breathed fire.  The hookah bar was closed when we finally got there, but the night was in no way a loss. 

The following week I got to spend my Friday accompanying my first-year students on a field trip.  It was a beautiful fall day, and I was glad to spend it with my students outside of the classroom.  The trip was supposed to be educating for them, but they took it upon themselves to educate me about the things we were seeing.  These places were apparently nothing new for them.

The view from the folk village

A traditional Korean folk village

The first part of the day was spent in a traditional folk village.  I’m a little hazy on the origins of the place – some of the buildings appeared to be originals while others were clearly reconstructions.  The weird thing was that people seemed to actually be living there.  I hadn’t expected this; I was anticipating some kind of touristy model village.  The backyard gardens were productive and carefully cultivated, and there was clothing hanging on the lines.  I had the sense that this wasn’t just a show for the visitors.  It was easy to tell the upper-class homes from the lower by the styles of the roofs.  The former were constructed of rounded, overlapping wooden shingles, while the latter were made of thatched grasses.  It was a very picturesque scene with ancient looking stone walls along the walkways covered in vines reddening with the season. 

The second part of the field trip took us to an old Confucian school.  I don’t really have much to say about this place, and the students seemed pretty bored with the whole thing.

The last part of the day was spent visiting the shrine of a national hero – Admiral Yi Sun-sin, a 16^th century naval commander.  By complete coincidence, I just discovered a Stuff You Missed in History Class podcast about him, and it’s enable me to shed some light on who this man was.  History remembers him for his seemingly miraculous victories against the Japanese during the Imjin War in the Joseon Dynasty (1592-1598). also known as the Seven Year War.  His visionary and ingenious ship designs gave the Koreans a huge advantage over their opponents, but he is best known as a brilliant tactician.  The most exciting story tells of how he, when outnumbered 133 ships to 12, managed to route the Japanese fleet by luring them into a raging strait where they became trapped, and bombarding the ships with heavy cannon fire.  This stunning victory essentially saved Seoul from invasion.  Though little known outside of Korea and Japan, many history and naval experts consider this to be among the greatest naval defeats of all time.  Despite a lack of formal military training, Yi Sun-sin went to his grave having never been defeated in battle.  He was mortally wounded by a stray bullet in 1598 at a point when the Japanese military, which only a few years earlier had seemed invincible, was on the verge of withdrawing from the Korean peninsula and the war was all but over (Hollywood couldn't write a story this tragic).  His dying words have become a very inspiring and colorful part of Korean folklore:  “The battle is at it’s height.  Beat my war drums.  Do not announce my death.”

Students ascending the steps to the shrine 

Such a venerated hero deserves a shrine that appropriately honors his legend and what he has come to represent for the Korean people.  The shrine I visited seems more than adequate in this regard.  The shrine itself is in an elaborate and impressive temple-like building that sits on a high point surrounded by a massive park overlooking the plains of Asan and the distant mountains.  The place had a very sacred feel, enhanced by the demeanor of my students which, after being characterized by rowdy rambunctiousness all day, suddenly became serious, solemn, and respectful. 

The view looking out from the shrine

After the experiences detailed above, I feel that I’ve begun to get a little closer to the heart of Korea.  But I still have a long way to go in understanding these people and their culture.  Perhaps the most educational and enlightening day of my South Korea adventure will be detailed in my next blog post, which is already nearly complete.  Look for it to be posted in the next couple of days.

Me posing with some students at the shrine

The Last 2 Weeks in Review -- Rugby, Shopping, and BBQ

Things are starting to change.  The weather is becoming cooler, the leaves are slowly shifting their colors, and I am gradually becoming acclimated to my new life here in South Korea.  I’m pretty comfortable with the public transportation system at this point, which is enabling me to branch out and explore more of this tiny, baffling country.

I’ve been eating out a lot, sampling different kinds of Korean foods.  I’m really drawn to the array of unique, spicy soups and stews available.  I suspect this tendency will only grow with the arrival of colder weather.  I’m trying to avoid doing the cliché tourist thing and describing in hyperbolic detail every dish I’ve tried, though I’m tempted to.  I will say, however, that I got a healthy dose of culture shock when I made my first trip to the grocery store.  First of all, I should’ve brought a patient translator along – the labels were almost all in Hangeul, and there was plenty that I could not identify by just looking.  I spent at least two hours in the store walking around and taking everything in – the unfamiliar vegetables, the unidentifiable items in the seafood section, the squid-flavored potato chips, the dozens and dozens of different kinds of kimchi.  A can of Spam-style canned meat costs more than ground beef?  Really?  Pineapple juice in a big carton? It was a trip.  I’ll probably do most of my shopping at the Lotte Mart by Cheonan/Asan station, but I’ve learned that there’s a genuine Costco in Daejeon where foreigners regularly go for comfort items that are otherwise hard to find.  I plan on doing this soon.  I’m all for embracing differences, but no one’s going to deny me my block cheese, bacon, and good beer.  (And yes I plan on consuming all three at once).

I’ve started making friends in Cheonan – mostly westernized expats like myself.  No honest-to-goodness Korean friends yet, but I’m working on it.  I joined a facebook group called Cheonan Scene that led me to some cool folks.  Also, my friend and co-teacher John Spooner, who I mentioned in my last post, is a DJ who sometimes spins at one of the foreigner bars in town.  I accompanied him one Friday night and was a little too easily persuaded to down shots of tequila by friendly people who wanted me to feel welcome.  People around here, Koreans and foreigners alike, don’t hit the bars until 11 and stay out all night to the wee hours of the morning.  I couldn’t hang though, and had to duck out around 2 a.m.  Where I come from, that’s last call.

Two weekends ago was Chuseok, a major Korean holiday that’s usually described as ‘Korean Thanksgiving.’  It was a five-day weekend, which allowed for some exploring.  I finally got out of my local area and got to see some of Seoul.  My first trip up was with Spooner, and I got a good deal on an acoustic guitar in Yongsan.  When it comes to shopping in Korea, the general rule of thumb is to learn to haggle, or else get ripped off.  This is especially true for foreigners.  When I bought a beard trimmer (which, by the way, was incredibly difficult to find, since it’s really rare for Korean men to wear facial hair), the guy originally asked for 150,000₩, but I was able to talk him down to 60,000 without much persuading.     

Another time, I went up to a popular foreigner district of Seoul called Itaewon accompanied by a group of girls from South Africa.  We went to watch a rugby world cup match between South Africa and Wales.  The pub was packed full, and the Welsh supporters were woefully outnumbered.  You should have heard the walls shake when the South African national anthem was sung.  It was an awesome thing – almost made me wish I could be South African for the night.  And the celebration afterwards when the Springboks squeezed out a win was a blast.  We ate Turkish kebabs and drank beer, hopping from place to place.  At one point we ended up at a cocktail bar called Bungalow that had a sandy floor and rope-swings for seating.  Later, we ended up at a hookah bar with an overt sexual theme (by way of example, the drinks on the menu had nice, wholesome names like ‘wet pussy’).  It was interesting, to say the least.

My most recent adventure took me to a small town in southern Chungnam Province called Nonsan.  I met up with some friends I hadn’t seen since SEPIC orientation.  One of them, Matthew from California, was throwing a barbeque for the girls in his English camp.  The idea was for them to get to talk to other native speakers and to get a sampling of Western culture.  We accordingly grilled hamburgers and hotdogs, while the Korean teachers prepared samgyeupsal (Korean BBQ fare consisting of grilled pork, chili paste, and shredded green onions wrapped in lettuce leaves).  I also brought my guitar and gave some of the girls a lesson in blues music.  I ended up teaching some of them a few chords.  One girl was happily pounding out the bassline for Smoke on the Water by the time it was over.  Reminded me of the AmeriCorps Late Night events I volunteered at for two years in Federal Way.

After the barbeque, the adults went back to Matt’s apartment building for a little rooftop party.  Later in the night, Neo (another South African, and my roommate from orientation) and I impulsively decided to hop a train to Daejeon – Korea’s third largest city, which wasn’t too far away.  On the way to the train station, I left my wallet in the backseat of the taxi.  I managed to avoid freaking out, even though my only access to money was the ATM card in my wallet.  It’s just a good thing I was with a friend.  Neo promptly paid for my train ticket, then spotted me 50,000₩ (around $45) to get me through the night and back home the following morning.  What a guy.  So my night wasn’t ruined.  At the first bar we entered, we immediately ran into a big group of Americans and South Africans from our orientation and proceeded to have a great time.  In another stunning show of generosity, an Alabama girl named Taylor allowed me crash with her and her friend in their motel room….you know, because I had no wallet and all.  Now that's what I call southern hospitality.

So the generosity of others got me through what otherwise might’ve been a harrowing ordeal.  It gave my faith in humanity a boost.  And to top it all off, two days later I discovered that someone had turned in my wallet to the police – with cash, cards, and all still inside.  Now, I had heard that Koreans are honest, but that just blew me away.

So that about covers it.  Now that the weather is cooling off, I’m thinking it’s about time I get away from the hustle n’ bustle and start exploring Korea’s mountains.  Gyeryongsan National Park may be in store for this weekend.  Until next time, my friends, keep it real.

First Impressions

Alright people.  I suppose it’s time for me to actually start writing about my experiences, now that I’ve been here three weeks and haven’t told you anything at all.  As a result, this will probably be a rather lengthy entry.  Grab yourself a drink and get comfortable.

I’m going to start with the day I left orientation, because that really felt like it was my first day in Korea, even though it was actually my seventh.  Orientation ended with a little ceremony where they gave us all certificates and then sent us on our way.  For those teachers who had already been here and teaching for a while, they had to take public transportation back to their schools.  For the newbies like me, we got picked up by our Korean co-teachers.  My co-teacher’s name is Sunny.  I had already met her earlier in the week because she was one of our trainers on the second day of orientation.  I knew that I was being taken straight to the school to meet the staff and have lunch with the principal, so I had spent the morning cleaning myself up, shaving off my week-long beard growth, and donning my suit so as to make a good first impression.  As if being nervous wasn’t enough, I was sweating like a whore a church because it was like 88 degrees with 1000% humidity, and I was wearing a freaking suit. 

Sunny was in a hurry, so I didn’t even get to say an abrupt farewell to the friends I’d made at orientation – fortunately, I was smart enough to write down everyone’s contact information earlier that morning. Sunny took me straight to Chungnam Foreign Language High School, my new place of employment.  (I’m not going to say much about my school right now, because that deserves its own blog entry, which I promise to write soon).  On the short drive to the school, we chatted a little about my reasons for coming to Korea and my teaching background.  At one point, to my utter astonishment, the song “F—K You” by Cee-Lo Green came on the radio (I wasn’t aware that any American music was popular here, especially a song like that.  I mean, I thought Koreans were supposed to be conservative), and Sunny was sort of drumming out the beat with her thumbs on the steering wheel. That put me at ease a little. 

When we arrived at the school, I was given a whirlwind tour and introduced to dozens of people.  In my state of nervous excitement, I could do little more than give each new person a stiff, self-conscious bow and a mumbled “Annyeong haseyo” – one of two Korean phrases I’d picked up at orientation.  Then I met the principal.  After a bow and a handshake, he asked me to sit down across from him, and he began asking me questions.  Even though I already had the job, this sort of felt like an interview.  At first I was intimidated, but that soon passed, because he was very friendly, always smiling, and seemed satisfied with the things I was telling him.  After speaking for a bit about my credentials and experience, we went to lunch.

I had thought lunch was going to be a somewhat informal affair, but I was wrong.  In addition to Sunny and the principal, we were joined by close to a dozen other teachers and administrators, as well as Liz, the American teacher I was replacing.  I’m thankful she was there, because she told me to just follow her lead.  Koreans have many idiosyncratic formalities when it comes to dining, especially when “elders” are present, and I was sure I would make some kind of faux pas.  But with Liz’s help, I made it through alright.  If I did make any mistakes, my companions were too polite to say anything. 

We went to a traditional Korean restaurant.  It was the real deal – shoes off at the door, sitting on the floor, etc.  Traditional Korean dining is a sort of communal experience – there are no individual servings (except for rice).  Instead, all the dishes are placed in the middle of the table and everyone shares.  Korean meals usually consist of some main entre (in this case salted, grilled fish – not nice, neat fillets, but the whole fish – bones, eyeballs, and all) and a great variety of small, colorful side dishes. The side dishes were mostly different types of spicy fermented vegetables, the infamous kimchi among them.  There was also some kind of spicy soup with tofu and seaweed in it.

At the start of the meal, the principal made a little speech in which he thanked Liz for all her hard work at the school and told her how much she’d be missed.  Then, he spoke directly to me, invoking the old “when in Rome…’ adage and applying it to my experience of Korea, encouraging me to keep an open mind and experimental attitude.  In keeping with this spirit, I dove right in to the meal.  It was all very good.  Even the kimchi wasn’t terrible, though I tried it out of politeness and kept my serving small.  After a week of the cafeteria-style food we’d been eating at orientation, I was starting to fear that I was going to have a tough time stomaching Korean food.  But this meal was my first indication, which has since been corroborated, that the food at orientation was just crap, an unfortunate introduction to Korean cuisine that I’m glad to have behind me. 

The fish was especially good, though it was difficult to eat.  If you’re ever curious what it feels like to be handicapped, try de-boning fish with chopsticks, without using both hands.  Oh, and a special note on Korean chopsticks:  they’re made of metal, and a little more slender than chopsticks I’ve used in the past.  This makes them kind of, shall we say, “slippery.”  Even though I’m no stranger to chopsticks, I struggled quite a bit, which was probably also due to nervousness.  I was aware of the others watching me in a clandestine manner;  it was probably my imagination, but I felt like I was being “sized up.”  Finally, the principal took pity on me and offered me some pointers, which didn’t seem to help much.  At one point, another teacher, who hadn’t spoken a word to me during the meal, asked the waitress to bring me a fork.  I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or not.  I didn’t want to use the fork; I wanted to learn to do it the way Koreans do it.  I mean, “when in Rome,” right?  But I also didn’t want to offend the guy, in case it was meant to be a generous gesture.  So I spent the rest of the meal awkwardly switching back and forth between the fork and the chopsticks. 

After lunch, I was taken to my apartment.  In addition to taking over Liz’s job, I was also taking over her living space.  I don’t think 

My apartment building

there’s much need to describe the apartment, so I’ll keep this brief.  It’s a small one-bedroom on the 15^th (top) floor of a highrise, not far from my school.  It has a bed, a wardrobe, a couch, a TV, a table or two, and not much else.  Korean homes usually don’t have ovens, but Liz had gotten a small convection oven which she passed on to me.  To tell you the truth, Liz made this transition super easy for me by selling me a bunch of her stuff for cheap – kitchenware, bedding (yeah, I’m sleeping on pink sheets and a flowery bedspread…don’t judge me), and the like.  There’s also a large balcony, a washing machine that doesn’t work very well, a rack for drying clothes, and an oscillating fan in lieu of an air conditioner.  The building is in a neighborhood called Hosan-ri, which is technically in Asan, but also pretty close to Cheonan.  It’s a pretty good location.  Cheonan is a decent sized city, with neon lights, street food, department stores, night clubs, foreigner bars, and taxis that nearly run you over.  I’m also pretty close to some major transportation links, including the Asan/Cheonan KTX station (high speed rail), which makes it really easy to get up to Seoul.  I’ve already made the trip 3 times.   

Hosan-ri, seen from the top of my building

That night we went out to dinner – Liz and I, and some of my new co-teachers.  This was when I met John Spooner, a native of New York who’s been living and teaching in Korea for a while now.  He has since become almost like my personal guide to Korea.  He’s helped me figure out which buses to take, how to get a transportation card, where to shop, where to eat, how to say my address to a taxi driver, and he’s been introducing me to lots of people in the area and helping me make friends.  I feel like I’d be lost without his help.

The view from my balcony

I’m going to end this entry here, and save the other adventures for next time.  I’ll also try to add things to this blog more regularly.  Now that I’m settled in and starting to become somewhat acclimated, things should be slowing down a bit, allowing me to dedicate more time to projects such as this.  Take care, all.  I’ll be in touch.