The Japan Saga, Part I: Crisis at the Airport, and Kyoto

With a place as fabled as Japan, having been romanticized for years in American film and TV, always shrouded in the mystery of the orient’s  impenetrable cloak, it’s difficult not to fall into the trap of building up unrealistic expectations.  At the risk of sounding foolish, I’ll share with you the idealized image I had created in my mind of what my first night in Japan would consist of.  Since I knew I would have to kill several hours after my arrival waiting for my friend to get off work, I had pictured myself finding a charming little back alley tea house with paper partition walls and a low ceiling where I would sit on the floor and drink in the richness of an ancient culture, preferably while snow falls softly outside.  Silly, right?  Of course, I knew that realizing such a perfect picture would be unlikely, but I certainly didn’t imagine that I would spend my first 4 hours in Japan stuck in Nagoya-Chubu airport frantically making expensive international phone calls, running from one information stand to another, and generally in a state of utter panic – but that’s exactly what happened.

The very first thing I did when I passed through customs was to seek out an ATM.  I needed to book a train ticket to Toyohashi where my friend lives, and I also needed some cash to pay for my libations in the charming little tea house when I found it.  I came upon a 7-11 ATM – perfect, I thought.  I had read that these ATMs always accepted foreign cards (not all Japanese ATMs do).  When the machine rejected my card twice, I swallowed the sense of alarm that began to surge up from my stomach and moved on to a Citi-Bank ATM that was labeled “Global ATM.”  That one rejected my card too, as did every other ATM I tried (I now know that the card and account that I have with my Korean bank CANNOT be used abroad, even though I had gone to my bank earlier in the week to ask this very question and was told that it would work).  By then, there was no suppressing the dread that was quickly overtaking my brain.  What was I going to do?  I couldn’t use my American credit card to purchase a train ticket, because they can only be paid for with cash; and I had not had enough foresight to bring extra cash – I only had about 1300 yen worth, which wasn’t even enough to get me to Toyohashi.  Compounding my panic was the thought that, even if I did figure out a way to get to Toyohashi, I would still need to survive 10 days in Japan while I apparently didn’t have any access to money. 

My iphone can’t be used to make regular calls in Japan, but it didn’t take me long to realize that if I could find Wi-Fi, I could use Skype to call my American bank, which I did.  I wanted to know if I could use my American credit card to get a cash advance at an ATM.  Their answer was complicated and unhelpful.  I won’t bore you with the details;  I’ll just say the phone call got me nowhere.  I was still 300 yen short of the cost of a ticket to Toyohashi. 

Fortunately there was a young girl working for the rail company who had a good command of English, and she was my savior on this fateful night.  She showed me how to obtain a certain kind of ticket that would allow me to pay the fare upon my arrival in Toyohashi rather than beforehand.  So I took the ticket, ran back to the wireless hotspot, and used Skype to call my friend in Toyohashi.  Since he was working, it took me a few tries to get through to him, but I eventually did.  After I explained the whole situation, he agreed to meet me at the station in Toyohashi and cover the extra 300 yen I needed to be able to pay for the ticket.

And that, patient reader, is how my adventure in Japan began – with chaos and panic.  I ended up having to borrow money from my friend to pay for my expenses during the trip – to the tune of $700.  Now, THAT’S a good friend.  I don’t know what I would have done if I’d gone to Japan completely on my own with no one to bail me out.  I’d figure out later how to pay him back.  For the moment, the crisis had been averted.

The friend I was meeting up with in Toyohashi – Micah – is an old friend from my teenage years.  He and I used to hang out and play music together back when we were in high school.  I had seen him only once or twice in the last 7 years or so, but thanks to the magic of Facebook I knew that he was living and teaching in Japan.  It wasn’t long after my arrival in Korea that he and I began throwing around the idea of me visiting him there.  Traveling in Japan is expensive, but having a friend to crash with would significantly reduce costs;  plus, how often in life does one get to reunite with an old friend a world away from the place where we’d known each other before, in a country where he knows the language, the ins-and-outs of the transportation network, the meaning behind certain cultural customs and idiosyncrasies?  This needed to happen.  It would’ve been foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity.  If I was ever going to visit Japan, I would never again encounter such a perfect set of circumstances. 

My first proper Japanese sashimi:  Salmon, 

tuna, and salmon eggs.  Mmmm.

The day after my arrival was a Saturday.  Since Micah doesn’t have to work on weekends, he accompanied me to Kyoto – Japan’s ancient capital, a city renowned for being a bastion of “old Japan.”  To a greater extent than the other major Japanese cities, Kyoto has managed to retain a lot of the traditional flavor.  We arrived mid-afternoon, checked into our hostel, and set off under the assault of a steady rain to explore the city’s charms.  Micah knew this place well.  During his first trip to Japan in 2008, he’d stayed here for a month.  He took me to a tiny hole-in-the-wall eatery where we dined on some excellent sashimi.  We then proceeded to just wander around.  At one point, we veered into a narrow alley paved with flagstones that immediately brought to mind scenes from Memoirs of a Geisha.  And then, as if they were taking a cue from my thoughts, two genuine painted-up maikos (geisha in training) came waddling past us with their paper umbrellas and iconic get-ups.  The coolest thing about this chance encounter was that it was the real thing – these girls weren’t wearing a costume for the tourists; they were going to work. 

A side street in Kyoto

Later, we met up with some friends of Micah’s for dinner.  His friend Yui, her brother, and her awesome parents joined us at a curry house (one of Kyoto’s oldest) and for drinks at a nearby bar afterwards.  We whiled away several hours drinking and snacking on oysters and potato wedges.  Yui’s father is a Buddhist monk who’s skilled at playing the shakuhachi (traditional Japanese bamboo flute), and I had a very lively conversation with him about music, traveling, Japanese and American culture, and our respective personal histories.  I felt perfectly at home with these amazingly open, welcoming people.  This is the best way to travel – engaging and learning from the locals who have far more insight to share than any tourist guide book could possibly offer.  I began to relax and truly enjoy myself, the crisis of the previous night fading further into memory.

Micah and Yui on the left.  On the right, Yui's mother,brother, and father.

When we finally left the bar, the rain had abated.  Feeling too tipsy and tired to endure the long walk back to the hostel, Micah and I opted to take a taxi.  It wasn’t until we had stepped out on a dark street and the taxi had driven away that we realized that we weren’t at our hostel.  I heard Micah utter the dreaded words one hopes never to hear from a guide: “Hmm.  This doesn’t look right at all.”

We were in a residential neighborhood, a labyrinth of crooked, narrow streets and alleys.  We managed to find our way to a main road and a convenience store where we could ask directions – thank goodness Micah speaks Japanese.  Too bad the directions we received didn’t lead us to the hostel.  But we knew we were close.  After wandering around for about an hour and stopping numerous times in the glow of a streetlamp to scrutinize our map, we found ourselves in familiar territory.  It was with exhaustion and tremendous relief that we finally ascended the steps to our hostel, quietly celebrating our triumph over the maze of that Kyoto neighborhood.  I fished the key out of my pocket – a tag on the key ring displayed a numerical code that we needed to punch in to get the door to open:  #01090*.  It didn’t work.  I tried again.  It didn’t work the second time, and our premature celebration was immediately brought to a halt.

We looked at each other with incredulity.  Seriously?  After our unplanned hour-long moonlight stroll we wanted so badly to just be able to go to bed, and now there was another obstacle standing in our way.  We stood there in silence for a few moments, contemplating our next move.  Micah asked to see the key. 

Then, incredibly, he started to laugh.  Holding the key ring up for me to see, he slowly turned it upside down.  The code now read *06010#.  We knew before we even punched the numbers in that it would work, and that I was an idiot.

In the morning we checked out of the hostel and strolled down the now familiar neighborhood lanes to another hostel owned by the same folks as the one we’d just left.  We sat down for a breakfast of toast, coffee, and orange juice and hatched out our plan for the day.  We decided to head to the Fushimi Inari shrine in the south-eastern part of the city – really, it was a series of Shinto shrines spanning an entire mountainside which were connected by wandering paths that passed through colonnades of bright orange torii (a stylized Japanese gate usually found at the entrance of Shinto shrines which symbolically mark the transition from the profane to the sacred). 

A fountain for purifying one's hands

before entering the shrine

The first thing we did when we arrived at the main shrine – an impressive tiered pagoda structure of gleaming white and orange –  was to purify our hands by ladling water out of a fountain-trough.  The gateway to the shrine was guarded on either side by imposing fox statues.  The fox is believed to be the messenger of the Inari gods and is regarded as a highly spiritual animal capable of possessing humans (the preferred way of entering the body is under the fingernails).  We observed people walking up to a certain part of the shine and engaging in a prayer ritual in which they would toss in a coin, ring a bell (to get the gods’ attention, according to Micah), clap their hands twice, then bring their hands together in prayer.

The Fushimi Inari Shinto shrine

A statue of a fox -- messenger of the Inari

Before long, we continued up the mountain under the paradoxically luminescent shadow of the torii, investigating the smaller, cruder shrines along the way.  We eventually came to a point far up the hillside where we found tea houses overlooking the surrounding forests.  There were many junctions in the trail, and I had planned a specific route that would take us over the other side of the mountain, passed a Buddhist temple (Tofukuji), and deposit us near a train station.  Though my directions were carefully taken down from a guide book, following them explicitly proved to be impossible.  But by instead relying on instinctual sense of direction, we managed to find our way.

The bright orange torii of the Fushimi Inari Shrine

After lunch, we spent the rest of the day straining our already overworked leg muscles walking around the heart of Kyoto, picking up a few souvenirs.  By that evening we were back at Micah’s apartment in Toyohashi, unwinding with some tea and a card game with a few of Micah’s American friends.  All in all, it was a fun weekend and a very promising start to my trip.

So ends part 1 of the Japan saga.  Part 2 soon to come.

Tofukuji Buddhist Temple

One Semester Down

Unlike most schools in western countries, where December marks the half-way point of the school year, the end of the calendar year also means the end of the school year here in Korea.  And the end of the school year is an exciting time at Chungnam Foreign Language High School.  After enduring a solid year of masochistic study routines, the students are finally finished with exams and are permitted a little breathing room and a chance to cut loose.  At this school, final exams and grade calculations are completed a full two weeks before the break actually starts, leaving a lot of time at the end for bullshit.  This was a welcome reprieve for me, the teacher; I can only imagine how the students must’ve felt. 

Since the other teachers didn’t seem to be doing anything productive in their classes, I didn’t feel any guilt over showing Christmas movies for the entire week after finals.  We watched Elf, and it was a big hit.  I’ve never been much of a Will Ferrell fan, but his role in that particular movie easily transcends all language barriers.  To be honest, I really enjoyed being able to spend time with the students without the pressure of trying to teach them, trying to force participation, or giving them feedback on their pronunciation and grammar.  I adore my students – they are, after all, the reason I went into education in the first place – and my Korean students are sweethearts.  I treasured the opportunity to just hang out and build better relationships with them. 

There was another fun activity I cooked up for them at the end of the year, and it ended up being one of my most successful lessons to date.  I’m not sure they learned much, but they had fun and got a chance to practice their English.   That’s all that matters, right?

Like normal teenagers the world over, Korean teens love music.   They’ve known since I arrived that I play guitar and they’re always asking me to bring it in to play for them.  So I had the inspired idea to have each of my culture classes help me write a blues song.  To start things off, I gave them a brief history of the blues – how the genre developed historically, what makes a blues song a blues song, etc. – and I played a few YouTube videos of some of the greats, like John Lee Hooker, B.B. King, and Mississippi John Hurt.  I then taught them about the concept of “end rhyme” and had them come up with a few examples.  I also very briefly reviewed metaphors, similes, and imagery, explaining that these techniques are often employed in songwriting to make the lyrics more interesting and intuitive.  Finally, we decided on the subject matter of our class song.  I suggested that since blues songs often incorporate themes of “hard times” (poverty, lost love, hard work, addiction, death), that we could write a song about the “hard life” of the average Korean high school student.  They LOVED the idea – they don’t often get opportunities to vent their frustrations on this subject. 

I divided the class into pairs and had each set of partners come up with a rhyming couplet – just two lines per pair of students.  Here’s a few examples of what they came up with:

“My head’s going to blow from the insanity

of always worrying about university.”

“Can’t you see me living life without fun?

Can’t remember when I last saw the sun.”

“I don’t want to study, but I don’t have a choice.

Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a voice.”

“We always study for 14 hours

But there’s no guarantee that success will be ours”

“I’m so sick of this school,

But at least teacher Kevin is cool”    **(Those kids should’ve gotten extra credit)

Once all the students had contributed some lyrics to the project, I took them home, fitted them together, and reworked them slightly so they would fit with the music (I used the tune for Pride and Joy because it’s simple and flexible).  On the last week of classes I went in to each class with copies of the lyrics, passed them out, and performed the song for them.  I think they really enjoyed it. 

The hosts of the Golden Bell game show make their entrance 

onto the set.

The very last week before the break was a whirlwind of activity.  The students were really excited about the fact that Golden Bell – a nationally broadcast Korean quiz show for students – was filming an episode at our school with select students as the contestants.  The elaborate set was erected in the auditorium of a nearby university, and the entire staff and student body were present for the game.  Filming dragged on all day, and the whole thing was obviously conducted in Korean, so it got a bit boring for me at times, since I wasn’t able to understand what was going on.  But it was still exciting overall.  Several student groups got to perform traditional music for the show’s opening, and later in the program there were more performances by the dance club and the cheerleading squad.  It was a great reminder for me that there’s a lot more to these students than relentless studying, and I was very impressed with their talents. 

A student playing a gayageum, a traditional
harp-like instrument.

Oh, did I mention that I got to participate as well?  One of the questions for the game was an English conversation question, and it’s customary for an English speaking staff member to read the question.  So I was paired with a third year student who has excellent pronunciation, and together we read a short scripted conversation.  The question was about budae jjigae, a spicy soup that has its origins in the time immediately following the Korean War when, due to a food shortage, Koreans began utilizing surplus foods from US Army bases (read: hot dogs and Spam) and incorporating them into a soup with more traditional ingredients like kimchi and gochujang (red chili paste).  We really do export the best of our culture to other countries, don’t we? :-P  Budae jjigae (literally, “army base stew”) is still popular today. So anyway, I’ve had my one minute of fame – or I will on February 5^th when the show airs. 

"Teacher, I'm hungry.  Do you have anything to eat?"

The show actually had a rather sensational conclusion.  It came down to two students who battled it out with each other round after round after round.  It’s rare for contestants to get beyond 30 or so questions, but these guys fought each other all the way up to the final 50^th question.  Our principal was thrilled, because it made the school look really good.  Winning the game is a big deal – the winner gets a scholarship and a trip to America, or something like that.  Unfortunately, in the end there could only be one winner, but the runner up got a pretty stellar consolation prize – a trip to Europe. 

The final two contestants battling for first place.

Students playing Jenga at the 'cafe' 

during the school festival.

The final day of the semester was the day of the school festival.  Since Korean students don’t have the traditions of a homecoming dance or prom, the school festival is what they look forward to all semester.  I had been looking forward to it as well.  The day started off with students setting up “stations” all over the school – there was face painting, organized games, a mock casino, puzzles and trivia, and an imitation café.  They had a lot of fun with it.  I spent the morning bouncing around from station to station, ending up in the café playing cards and Jenga with a group of students while other students served us drinks, chips, and choco pies.  There were even a few student guitarists who served up some live coffeeshop-style entertainment for the rest of us. 

Two students perform a pop duet for a captive 

audience at the school festival.

After lunch, the students piled into the auditorium for the main event – student performances on the big stage.  The acts ranged from singing pop songs and choreographed dances to performances of classical guitar or the traditional gayageum.  Again, I was amazed by the depth of talent the students possess.  These performances went on for the rest of the day and into the night.  The students never tired of it, and considering how hard they worked during the rest of the semester, I think they deserved all the fun and recreation they could handle. 

So now the school year is over and I can officially say that I survived my first semester in a Korean high school.  No sweat.  Over the break, I’m still required to come in to school every day even though there are no classes for me to teach.  This pointless practice is called “desk warming.”  The Korean teachers don’t have to be here, but my contract is different.  So basically, I sit in my office and waste away hour after hour on facebook, searching for the end of the Internet, studying Korean (I am now a boss at reading Hangeul), reading, napping, playing games, watching movies...and getting paid for it.  I’m also doing some lesson planning for next semester, but it’s hard to stay motivated with this much time on my hands.  Anyways, I’ll soon be busting out for 10 days to visit an old friend in Japan.  I leave next week and couldn’t be more excited.  Kyoto, Tokyo, and Hiroshima are on the agenda, and hopefully a few other places, time permitting.  So my next blog post will likely be about my adventures in the land of the rising sun.  Until then, take care all!

Me posing with the two most promising members of my lunch-time guitar club on their last day of Grade 1

So This is Christmas?

I’ve been slacking. When I started this blog, I had intended to update it on a consistent basis, but I’ve now let more than a month pass without posting anything here.  I wish I could say my neglect was due to my being too busy adventuring and doing outrageously exciting things to spend time writing.  But the truth is I had a very low-key, uneventful December.  In an effort to save money for an upcoming trip to Japan, I’ve been going out less on the weekends and spending more time at home.  As a result, I just haven’t had much to write about.  Toward the end of December, however, the holidays and end-of-the-school-year activities did provide some stories that are worth telling.

A lot of folks back home have been asking whether or not Koreans celebrate Christmas.  The short, not-so-simple answer is: sort of. I mean, department stores decorate and coffee shops play Christmas music (usually remixed with electronic dance beats).  But people don’t travel to visit family, stores stay open, and hardly anyone gets extra time off work or school.  It’s like they adopt the seasonal themes superficially but don’t really practice the traditions.

Still, I got many wishes of “Merry Christmas” from my students and co-workers who recognize how important this holiday is to westerners.  On the Friday before Christmas weekend, a student gave me a strawberry cupcake as a Christmas present.  It was one of only two presents that I received this year, and it totally made my day.

Luckily, I have plenty of foreign friends here who wanted to do something special to celebrate.  And after a month of not doing much socially, I really needed to get out.

A white Christmas in Korea!

I awoke on the morning of December 24^th to bright blue skies and a fresh layer of snow on the ground.  Perfect – a white Christmas.  It was a good start.  The weather had been rather cold and dreary in the preceding weeks, so the delightful wintery scene from my balcony of snow-covered hills combined with the pungent, comforting aroma of wood smoke was very welcome indeed.  Despite the cold, I bundled up and sat on my balcony for a while, contentedly sipping a steaming cup of freshly-brewed java and enjoying the clear morning. 

The girls -- Asanda, Kira, Lauren,
 and Jenji -- with our lovely Christmas cake

Later that day, I met some friends at Cheonan Station and boarded a train bound for Seoul.  Another friend was apartment-sitting in the capital and had invited us to spend Christmas there – a prospect far more enticing than remaining in our usual stomping grounds.  After we arrived, we decided to go out for dinner.  Then, we stopped by a supermarket and bought a cake and some wine.  I also decided to splurge on a bottle of bourbon and justified the expense by saying that it was a Christmas present to myself.  It’s the little things that make the holidays special.

N Seoul Tower

We made a brief stop back at the apartment, ate the cake (after singing happy birthday to Jesus), had a quick drink, then went out again.  In an effort to do something more momentous and memorable, we resolved to go to Namsung Tower (also called N Seoul Tower), which sits atop a prominent hill in the heart of Seoul.  It’s a 777 ft. tall communication and observation structure – think of it as a Korean version of the Seattle Space Needle.  Equally touristy too.  We were able to take a cable car up to the top of Namsung Hill – a slightly uncomfortable, but mercifully quick ride.  I’m sure it sounds like a rather romantic notion to be sailing over the lights of Seoul in a cable car, but true to Koreans’ customary disregard for the concept of “personal space,” they had so many of us crammed into the car that you couldn’t have fit another person in with a shoe horn.  Stuck somewhere in the middle of the pack, I didn’t have much of a view outside.

Once at the top of the hill, we circled the base of the tower to check everything out.  There was a whole pavilion up there with souvenir shops, restaurants, and even a teddy bear museum.  The only thing of real interest, if only for its humorous quirkiness, was a viewing platform on which all the rails were adorned with “love padlocks.”  This is a custom by which sweethearts come together and affix a padlock on the railing and throw away the key, thereby creating a symbol of their everlasting love for each other.  A quick google search has shown me that this custom did not originate in Korea, but its cheesy cutesiness seems perfectly suited for this country and its sappy take on romantic relationships.

Love Padlocks at the pavilion atop Namsung Hill

The real attraction up here was the tower itself and the panoramic views from the top.  A 9000₩ elevator ride, complete with an intense 3D animation on the ceiling that simulated blasting off in a rocket, took us to the observation deck at the top of the tower.  The observation deck was completely enclosed, which kept everyone warm, but was nonetheless a little disappointing for me, since it’s difficult to take good photos through dirty glass.  Still, the view is easily the best and most prominent in the city.  Due to the tower’s central location, one is able to see the bright lights of the world’s second largest metropolis spreading out as far as the eye can see in all directions – no other view goes so far in helping one to appreciate the immensity of this city.  Another neat feature was that the names of the great cities of the world were printed near the tops of the glass window panes, with an indication of in which direction they lay and how far distant they are.  It turns out that my beloved Seattle is 8,331.88 km away.  (I returned to N Seoul Tower a couple weeks later, this time during daylight, with hopes of snapping some good photos – but alas, the forecasted clear skies didn’t materialize, resulting in less-than-ideal photographing conditions.  Still, a sample photo can be seen below this post)

A view of Seoul from N Seoul Tower on Christmas Eve

The remainder of our Christmas Eve was spent back at the apartment cozily watching Christmas movies and drinking in holiday cheer (with a splash of alcohol).  The following day was more of the same.  Two of my friends graciously prepared us a very delicious albeit non-traditional Christmas feast and we all eventually returned to Cheonan that evening very satisfied with how we’d spent the holiday weekend.  Ultimately, my Christmas ended up bearing many similarities to my Thanksgiving this year– characterized by westerners coming together and, in the absence of family and the comforts of home, consciously trying to recreate something of the ambiance and tradition we’re used to.  It's like we know the recipe by heart, so we do what we can despite lacking a few ingredients.  Like Thanksgiving, my Christmas in Korea was not quite typical, but still familiar enough to keep loneliness and homesickness at bay.

I’m a couple weeks late getting this posted, but I’d still like to wish you all happy holidays and the best of luck in the new year.  Here’s to a 2012 filled with even more adventure, fun, and self-discovery!  If the Mayans were right, this could be our last chance to make the best of things, so make sure you take advantage of what precious little time you have left! (That was a joke.  But seriously though, Carpe Diem!)

A daytime view of Seoul from the top of N Seoul Tower

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.

*      *      *      *      *      *      *

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.