I am back online now. I have been extraordinarily busy due to final exams, marking, and holiday planning. I will be in Saipan next week, where hopefully it will be sunny and warm...
In the second week of November, I finally partook of a Korean tradition that has me, well, scared out of my skin. It happened quite by accident, but in retrospect, I think it did me some good. I visited a jin-ju-bang. A jin-ju-bang is a public bath house. Those of us who are hygenically obsessed shudder to think about this, those of us who are modest shudder even more so.
The evening started out innocuously enough. My Korean friend Clara had a birthday party. It was scheduled late at night in a restaurant near Hongdae (Hongik University),an area noted in Seoul for its party-like atmosphere and underground dance clubs. Since alcohol, college students, dirty dancing, and sex usually go together, I presumed that there would be plenty of love motels around to crash at afterwards. As it turned out, I was only partially right.
The party was very nice; we ate at a decent Italian restaurant (a rarity in Korea) and even had a bottle of wine on the house! My other friend opted to pay the 60,000 Won cab fare (which Clara got knocked down to 30,000 Won) to return to her country town, but I opted to spend the night in Seoul. To my surprise, Clara offerd to join me; she later explained that the toilet in her apartment was broken.
Clara was very much on edge about staying in a love motel, even after I explained that they are unusually clean due to the nature of their business (to prevent STDs presumably)and also have internet access and satellite tv. Think Motel 6 mixed with the amenities of Comfort Inn. Waygooks like myself don't really care about what people do on the beds; in fact, some of the beds are downright uncomfortable and I wonder what the attraction is for those kinds of activities...
Anyway, we walked up and down the busy streets, but didn't find a single love motel. Not one in Hongdae. We tried a busy side street, and did find one legit hotel, but it was full. Finally, I saw a "motel" sign, the Hotel Bobo (meaning baby kisses). This sounded promising. Clara, who had taken my arm (Korean-style), disentangled herself and went to speak to the desk clerk, who was eying us nervously. I stood just outside the door. She quickly came out, whispering that the place was "evil." I had noted the extensive collection of pornographic films in the lobby, but this was not unusual for this kind of place. I asked her directly why she said that, and she cautiously whispered that it was a rent-by-the-hour establishment; what was left unsaid was our linked arms. Oh. I guess they do have some standards after all.
Finally, the decision was made to stay at a jin-ju-bang, a popular alternative for both foreigners and Korean travelers. Witihn the inner courts of these public baths are sleeping areas. I knew this, but could never get over my North American tendency to shun nudity among strangers. This turned out to be a blunder on my part, as the sleeping areas are "clothing areas" and coed. The rest was all true, though.
We entered the place and paid a small fee of 7,000 Won (about $7). The clerk asked us if we wanted "snacks," which we declined (Korean "snacks" can be anything from nuts to squid jerky), and handed us each a small pink towel. He also handed us long-sleeved pink t-shirts and "ajuma pants." Ajuma pants come just below the knee and have wide, rather unflattering legs that give short people the appearance of dwarfs.
We entered a small outer room, removed our shoes, and placed them in tiny, numbered lockers. These were keyed rather than padlocked. We then moved on to the regular locker room. The moment of truth. Due to my gym experiences in Seoul, I was not particularly unnerved by the naked Korean women wandering around because they were strangers. What did unnerve me was that I was with someone I knew.
Koreans have a concept known as "skinship," which some Westerners really struggle with. Physical contact between members of the same sex is normal, as a matter of fact, it is encouraged. Skinship, as the word suggests, is a deeper level of friendship than Westerners of the same gender are comfortable with. Nudity is a great equalizer; there is nowhere to hide. The stoic Koreans, I have found, are at their most open emotionally in the bathhouse and in the bar. Furthermore, there is no taboo about children seeing their parents undressed, nor any taboo for employers/employees, teachers/students, and friends of the same gender. Little boys are allowed to accompany their mothers or elder sisters into the bathhouse. Our Western hang-up is a product of Victorian times, I suspect. Even so, I was a bit non-plussed.
I waited until the locker room was reasonably empty, then took a deep breath and stripped. I placed my clothes neatly in the locker, then swiped my key past the lock. It was some sort of RFID device, and clicked shut, accompanied by digital music. Only one person stared at me, but she quickly looked away when I met her eyes and joined her friend. Clara and I then padded into the bathing room in our bare feet.
I felt like I had stepped back into time. It was a Roman bath. The tiled floor was wet, but not slippery. Three separate hot tub-like areas were on one side, and a sauna and scrubbing station were on the other side of the room. On the left side of the room, there was a showering area. This was the starting point, I learned. To call them showers is not quite accurate. There were hoses attached to shower nozzles, but they were not hung on the wall. Instead, there was a plastic stool to sit on with a mirror in front. Between each station was a bar of plain soap and a dumping pan. These bathing implements I had seen before, but only had a vague idea how they were supposed to be used exactly, especially the dumping pans. After covertly observing others, I began to copy their movements. I grabbed the used bar of soap, hygiene be damned, and began soaping up. I started with my face and worked downward. I scrubbed at my dry skin, noting that others had a special scrubbing cloth that I lacked. When my feet got tired, I sat on the soapy stool. It is a bit uncanny to see your reflection when you are this vulnerable, I decided. I then grabbed the hose and rinsed off. But then I observed one final step. I watched people fill the pan from the hose with water (it holds about 4-5 gallons), soap up, scrub down, and dump the entire thing over their head. They do this several times; the Koreans are very clean people. So, feeling slightly idiotic, I followed suit. It is surprisingly effective at rinsing; once is enough!
Then, I looked around a bit more. There was some kind of well near the entrance, but I never discerned what it was used for exactly. The four "hot tubs," I learned, were different temperature baths. Each bath was fed fresh water by a steady stream emerging from the fanciful fish mouths mounted on the wall. The water was not chlorinated, but there was no need; everyone is expected to have taken care of personal hygiene BEFORE entering the pools. The first bath was the hottest, and had powerful jets churning the water. There was a less heated, but still toasty, tub in the center of the bathing area. This one seemed to be the most popular, so I avoided it in deference to my modesty. My personal limits precluded me from sitting in a tub full of ten naked women.
The next bath was reasonably empty. It was still very warm, but only one other girl was in there. This pool had bar rails just above the surface dividing the water into three areas. I idly wondered what they were for. Placing my towel on my head Korean-style, I slid into the pool. I am the avereage height for a Korean female; this greatly benefited me because the seating was curved to fit a slightly reclined body. My shoulders were just beneath the water. I was in heaven. Above my head was a small red button, which I surmised was for "help." Then, two young women joined me. They tried to communicate to me that they would like to push the red button. I acquiesced, infinately curious. As I turned towards them, it happened. The red button controlled the hidden jets on the curved seating. The jets are cleverly placed so as not to hit you in any...uncomfortable...places, but I was slightly turned so I got hit full force. I squeaked and crossed my ankles; the girls giggled and showed me how to sit properly and grab the rails. The powerful jets were almost painful, but after a few minutes they were quite soothing to my lower back pain, neck pain, and lower calf tension. After about 15 minutes, I went to join Clara in the sauna.
The sauna was unbeleivably hot, in fact, I could stay no more than 5 minutes in there. There is a ten-minute hourglass for your convenience inside, but I couldn't stay even that long. Clara had been in there for 30 minutes. Koreans still believe that sweating is good for all sorts of ailments including obesity, rheumatism, and virility (which seems to be a Korean male hang-up). It takes quite a bit of effort for a Korean to sweat; some older people actually were SLEEPING in the sauna with no visible effects.
We emerged and I observed with interest the scrubbing station. Westerners I have talked to call this feature of the bath the "ajuma scrub" ("ajashi scrub" if you are a man). Clara actually has trained as a beautician and said that it was very good for your skin. At the time, I had quite a bit of irritating dead skin, so I asked her to translate the "menu" of delights. I finally chose the full works - full body scrub, oil, cucumber facial, and massage. I observed the three-middle aged women at their work, and decide to risk it.
It was also a chance for personal growth. In recent years I have become rather unsatisfied with my appearance. Things begin to expand, sag, and mottle as one ages. The weight gain is especially disturbing to me, the other effects have not set in too much as of yet. For me to be there, even with women in worse physical shape that I was in, was very difficult. I mentioned this to Clara, but she did not seem to understand. I explained that American women don't like to be naked in front of other women because we all look different, for better or for worse, and can be very critical of each other. Koreans are too, but they don't take it personally when someone says, "You're fat! You should diet!" They take it as advice. Puzzled, Clara replied to my explanation, "But we all have the same thing."
We wandered around the place for awhile while I waited for my turn. There was more than one sauna; as it turned out, there were four. In the coed area, there were two wood-fired saunas. Another sauna had heated rocks instead of a wooden floor. The men wore white uniforms and the women wore pink. There was also a snack bar.
There were scattered sleeping areas, with mats and hard pillows at anyone's disposal. People simply camped wherever they felt like it. Families lined up their mats in a row, wrapping their children in blankets. Young couples snuggled up on one mat, contented smiles curving their lips as they dreamed of each other. Old men, young men, aging ladies, and teenagers, all were equalized in the twilight of sleep. I marveled at how contented they all looked. I am a restless sleeper, the sign of a restless mind. Is it possible to be so content? Moreover, is it possible to be so trusting, to sleep among strangers?
I returned to the bath, where the ajuma ordered me to soak for ten minutes in the bath to rewet my skin. She then called me over. The three ladies were clothed only in bras and underwear; my scrubber had on a wild leopard print "set-u." She was well-past middle-age and I suspect she may have even had grandchildren. She ordered me to lie down on the vinyl-covered table. She then donned one of the special scrubbing mitts, took a few swipes from a plain bar of soap, and began her work. The amount of trust I had to muster was almost unbearable, yet as she progressed, I began to relax. At first, the sensation was of sandpaper, a little uncomfortable, but tolerable.
As I began to relax, she increased the pressure. I entered a quiet realm within my own mind as she worked, occasionally jolted out by a tinge of discomfort. She worked from head to torso, then feet to middle. No area was left unscrubbed, including areas that had not been handled since babyhood. I tensed up when she ran the mitt between my thigh and pubic bone, but she didn't seem to notice. She was very intent on her work, and a calming image of a mother scrubbing a newborn child filled my mind. To her, that was what I was at the moment, a soapy, sleepy baby. She ordered me to turn over and began on my back. At one point, she got on the table with me, sitting on my lower back in order to get a deeper scrub. This struck me as humorous, a nearly-naked old Korean woman squatting on top of a Rubenesque blonde American. I giggled, but she pretended not to notice. After this treatment, she brought the
dumping pan, and sloshed me down with hot water. Layer after layer of skin lay dead on the table. "Ewwww....Did all of that come from me?" I wondered (it had).
She then began a process of slapping scalding hot towels on my back. She let them lay on me for a few moments, then "Whack! Whack! Whack!" She slapped my skin through the towels, repeating the process until the towels cooled. She did this on my front side as well. It was painful, but my muscles surprisingly obeyed and began to relax. Another woman came, and put a gooey mixture of cold thick lotion on my face, replete with actual diced cucumber chunks. She then covered the mess with a cheesecloth, clearing just enough room for my nostrils. I could not open my eyes, and once again, my trust was tested.
The ajuma began to dribble a cold, oily substance on my skin. It had a pleasant aroma, and she used it to deeply massage my muscles. I have had Western massages before, but this was different. This was deep muscle work, including muscles that no one has ever considered before. The pectoral muscles, for example, the ones that support your upper chest; it surprised me how much those muscles ached. She then poured another liquid on me; it smelled vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I was completely at her mercy, but she was so impersonal, so focused. I was just another body to her. It was liberating.
The mask was removed, and I slowly glided back to reality. I showered and Clara came to check on my progress (she had had a facial). The second substance that seemed familiar turned out to be milk. I had been given a milk bath! Clara seemed surprised when she saw me. "Wow, you are two shades lighter!" I looked in the mirror. She was right! The remnants of my summer tan lay in a soggy mess on the floor. My skin was a smooth as a baby, and my face was clear and bright.
Clara and I decided it was time to go to sleep. It was 4:00 in the morning, the traditional time of cleaning the baths (they are open 24 hours a day). We dressed in our baggy, but comfortable uniforms, and began mat hunting. It took some effort, as everyone else was doing the same thing, but we finally scored. We found space in the tv room in front of the television. Head to foot with total strangers, I was unable to even doze. After an hour, we left. I caught the early subway home, and fell into a dreamless sleep...
I do not think Americans are ready to accept such a place, and yet every American foreigner I have spoken to has said the Korean jin-ju-bangs are the highlight of their stay in Korea. Many people I know go at least once a week. Unfortunately, Byeongjeom doesn't have a "reputable" one, so people go by the university. Some gyms also have them. I would like to go back, but I am not sure I have the courage to go alone.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
JOURNAL: Espionage
I just downloaded a nifty little tool called a "Sitemeter." It can be found at the very bottom of my blog page. It is rather fun to know how many people are looking at my page...Haha, I see you!
I finished the unit on marriage and dating (Korea style), and I was very pleased with how well things went. I got a nice view of where the "new" generation is coming from. I gave each conversation group the same questionaire, and divided the men from the women to prevent war. Some things are universal, but some things are most definately cultural. Here are my findings, completely unscientific, of course.
What Korean Men Want in a Date: pretty, funny, slim; easy to talk to
What Korean Men Want in a Wife: good cook, good finacial manager, good worker, good mother
One man (married) said that being "like a mother" is important. When I asked him what he meant (thinking it was a lost-in-translation moment) he said that men often act like children...!
What Korean Men Hate About Women: shopping, too talkative
One young man said that his girlfriend was always talking, "but sometimes, I just want it to be silent!"
What Korean Women Want in a Date: "taller than me," handsome, slim, money, sense of humor
What Korean Women Want in a Husband: share chores, good communicator, money
When these results were communicated to the young men, the stunned look on a few male faces turned to disgust. "Women want a prince," one guy scoffed.
What Korean Women Hate About Men: public spitting, smoking, do not talk enough/listen, "they take up too much room"
When I asked about the last one, the women explained further. When women get on public transit, or sit next to a man anywhere, the man tends to lean back, stretch out his knees, and squash the women next to him into a small space. Korean women don't usually fight back. When this happens to me, I just hold my space rigidly, but it is not the custom here, apparently.
I carefully avoided "sex"-related questions, but the subject did come up indirectly a few times. We did some comparison between American and Korean culture; I gave the students the article I posted earlier in October, as well as an American survey article. I also played the quintessential Meatloaf song, "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" to give them a feel for teen romance. I also gave them some idiomatic (to catch your eye) and even current slang words (drunk dialing, making out, etc.) relating to dating and relationships. The baseball analogy (first base, second base, home run, etc.) did elicit a few giggles, and in one case, tears of laughter (I feel your pain, bro?).
There were no big surprises in my survey results. What did alarm me, however, was the shallowness of some of the younger womens' responses. Given that many of the women will be married right after college, these tendencies are alarming. Perhaps it is a cultural thing, or perhaps it is immaturity, but not one of the men or women discussed important character traits in their future spouse question. They were all focused on money, labor division, etc. Interestingly enough, the married members of the class were more in depth about these sorts of things. I did notice that women in general are very focused on external beauty, wealth, and status. Of course, this is a universal thing in many ways, but it also poses a difficulty for the men in this country. They are very traditional-minded about women - good cook and all. How on earth do any of them ever get along? I think many hearts will break when the honeymoon is over.
One young man (single), however, spoke very eloquently about physical beauty,"If she is funny and intelligent, I will like her. What she looks like is not important to me." The women did not appear to believe him, but I could tell he was sincere. The woman he marries will be a very fortunate woman...(Why can't I find one like that in MY age group?!)
What also struck me is that many of the simpler questions caused problems for the class. This was a big cultural difference; no one had given much thoguht to things such as "what makes a good marriage," "good spouse," "fun date," etc. Is this part of the "group" mentality, somehow? If I gave the same survey to a group of college/post-graduate Western students, these questions would cause no mental anguish; instead, I would likely get 26 different answers!
Dr. John Grey, of the now infamous "Mars and Venus" self-help books, states that the biggest complaint that men have about women is that women try to change men. The biggest complaint that women have about women is thta men don't listen. The class agreed heartily with these statements; this, at least, is very universal.
I finished the unit on marriage and dating (Korea style), and I was very pleased with how well things went. I got a nice view of where the "new" generation is coming from. I gave each conversation group the same questionaire, and divided the men from the women to prevent war. Some things are universal, but some things are most definately cultural. Here are my findings, completely unscientific, of course.
What Korean Men Want in a Date: pretty, funny, slim; easy to talk to
What Korean Men Want in a Wife: good cook, good finacial manager, good worker, good mother
One man (married) said that being "like a mother" is important. When I asked him what he meant (thinking it was a lost-in-translation moment) he said that men often act like children...!
What Korean Men Hate About Women: shopping, too talkative
One young man said that his girlfriend was always talking, "but sometimes, I just want it to be silent!"
What Korean Women Want in a Date: "taller than me," handsome, slim, money, sense of humor
What Korean Women Want in a Husband: share chores, good communicator, money
When these results were communicated to the young men, the stunned look on a few male faces turned to disgust. "Women want a prince," one guy scoffed.
What Korean Women Hate About Men: public spitting, smoking, do not talk enough/listen, "they take up too much room"
When I asked about the last one, the women explained further. When women get on public transit, or sit next to a man anywhere, the man tends to lean back, stretch out his knees, and squash the women next to him into a small space. Korean women don't usually fight back. When this happens to me, I just hold my space rigidly, but it is not the custom here, apparently.
I carefully avoided "sex"-related questions, but the subject did come up indirectly a few times. We did some comparison between American and Korean culture; I gave the students the article I posted earlier in October, as well as an American survey article. I also played the quintessential Meatloaf song, "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights" to give them a feel for teen romance. I also gave them some idiomatic (to catch your eye) and even current slang words (drunk dialing, making out, etc.) relating to dating and relationships. The baseball analogy (first base, second base, home run, etc.) did elicit a few giggles, and in one case, tears of laughter (I feel your pain, bro?).
There were no big surprises in my survey results. What did alarm me, however, was the shallowness of some of the younger womens' responses. Given that many of the women will be married right after college, these tendencies are alarming. Perhaps it is a cultural thing, or perhaps it is immaturity, but not one of the men or women discussed important character traits in their future spouse question. They were all focused on money, labor division, etc. Interestingly enough, the married members of the class were more in depth about these sorts of things. I did notice that women in general are very focused on external beauty, wealth, and status. Of course, this is a universal thing in many ways, but it also poses a difficulty for the men in this country. They are very traditional-minded about women - good cook and all. How on earth do any of them ever get along? I think many hearts will break when the honeymoon is over.
One young man (single), however, spoke very eloquently about physical beauty,"If she is funny and intelligent, I will like her. What she looks like is not important to me." The women did not appear to believe him, but I could tell he was sincere. The woman he marries will be a very fortunate woman...(Why can't I find one like that in MY age group?!)
What also struck me is that many of the simpler questions caused problems for the class. This was a big cultural difference; no one had given much thoguht to things such as "what makes a good marriage," "good spouse," "fun date," etc. Is this part of the "group" mentality, somehow? If I gave the same survey to a group of college/post-graduate Western students, these questions would cause no mental anguish; instead, I would likely get 26 different answers!
Dr. John Grey, of the now infamous "Mars and Venus" self-help books, states that the biggest complaint that men have about women is that women try to change men. The biggest complaint that women have about women is thta men don't listen. The class agreed heartily with these statements; this, at least, is very universal.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
NOTE: Aaaargh...Pardon My Dust
Dear Readers,
I am having some technical difficulties with both my computer and the Internet. I have posted a photo essay, but for some reason it reverted to "October 12," the day I began it. Yes, it has taken this long to get it up due to technical problems. I have lost the blog entirely once, and parts of it at various times due to random Internet "blackouts." Look under "October 12, 2006," and you will see my semi-finished blog...well, a draft of it. I cannot get the editing mode to work correctly. Grrrrrr.......
Pardon my dust.
Emerald Lady
I am having some technical difficulties with both my computer and the Internet. I have posted a photo essay, but for some reason it reverted to "October 12," the day I began it. Yes, it has taken this long to get it up due to technical problems. I have lost the blog entirely once, and parts of it at various times due to random Internet "blackouts." Look under "October 12, 2006," and you will see my semi-finished blog...well, a draft of it. I cannot get the editing mode to work correctly. Grrrrrr.......
Pardon my dust.
Emerald Lady
Friday, October 20, 2006
NOTE: Are There Any Good Men Out There?! A Response to an Article
In two weeks time, I will be doing a unit with my adult Institute students on marriage, dating, and the "battle of the sexes." They are very interested in this subject, as many of them are at Korean marrying age (27-28 men, 25-26 girls) or are already married. In order to prepare this unit, I have been doing some research online and thumbing through English magazines (Glamour, GQ, and Esquire). I am also forcing myself to read, with much retching and reluctance, "Men Are From Mars, Women are from Venus." These magazines and the book all have Korean editions, but the articles are strogly censored and/or omitted in deference to Korean culture;as I am finding out, however, my students are reasonably informed, albeit through word of mouth.
During my research, I have reached several painful conclusions.
1) "Traditional morals" are at an all-time low. "Should you kiss on the first date?" has been replaced "Should you sleep with someone on the first date?" The answer, as any girl of experience will tell you, is "No" but with the addendum that "If you do that, he will never call back!" Yet, from the men's point of view, a girl who saves herself for a later date is seen as a "tease" or a "marriage trap." I had one (EX!)boyfriend tell me, when I disabused him of this notion, that "What is the point in locking the barn door? The horse has already bolted!" I glared at him, took the key back, and locked the door.
2) Many men still expect to marry virgins, although inexperienced women may apply. The average American woman, by some accounts, has had 10-20 partners by age 30. 60%-80% (depending on your sources) of women have had or currently have an STD. As it is usually a man who convinces, seduces, or tricks the said woman into giving up her purity, this expectation is unfair and unreasonable.
3) Women are FURIOUS at men, to the extreme that more and more women are choosing a single life. "I would rather do it myself than trust someone to do it for me," is the mantra. Much bitterness, cynicism, and fear have created these "megawomen," and while I do not condone their behavior, I understand it.
Through many bitter relationships, emotional torment, and disappointments in my twenties, I took this stance firmly and unwaveringly. In the past couple of years however, I have realized, maybe a bit too late, that I DO want a life partner, a companion, and a friend to support me in life. As I grow older, I am less willing to take the lead in a relationship; there is something comforting in dating a man who is courteous and takes care of you.
One of the more charming things about the two Korean men I dated while here was the text messaging. Even if there was no time to speak or meet, every day I would receive short, pithy text messages with those annoyingly cute smiley/kissy faces right before going to bed. It annoyed me at first, independent woman that I am, especially as they were meaningless in words. I remember one message saying, "It's cold out tonight. Be sure and wear your coat!" Sometimes I responded, sometimes I did not. Then, one day, he (the first one) did not text. Was he angry at me? I caleld him the next day; he had gotten caught up in work until 2 a.m. and did not want to wake me up with a message on my cell phone (they make a looud noise when a message comes through).
4) And marriage? I have cut and pasted an article I came across today on http://www.LHJ.com It says it all:
Afraid to Commit: Young Men Want to Wait on Marriage
About the Study
They want kids, houses and sex. And they want women, too -- but not in the form of wives. Not until they're older.
So says the latest study to probe the minds of America's young men, aged 25 to 33. The study found 10 reasons men won't commit -- from the ease of finding sex partners to the desire to avoid financial risks of divorce.
Men do want to marry and have children eventually, the study found, and men greatly value the institution of marriage. But they love their single life and experience few of the traditional pressures from church, employers or society that once encouraged them to marry. Then, too, living together gives men many of the benefits of marriage without the obligations, the study said. And society accepts cohabitation.
The authors of the study, called The State of Our Unions, said they were puzzled by their findings, based on face-to-face group interviews with 60 heterosexual men in Chicago, New Jersey, Washington, D.C. and Houston. The majority of the men are employed full-time with reported annual incomes between $21,000 and $35,000. Most have had some college or hold a BA. None of the men were married; three had children.
"Marriage is a fundamental social institution. It is central to the nurture and raising of children... and the 'social glue' that reliably attaches fathers to children," noted the authors in their 32-page report. "[Marriage] contributes to the physical, emotional and economic health of men, women and children, and thus to the nation as a whole."
10 Reasons Men Won't Commit
Reason 1: Men can get sex without marriage more easily than in times past. The men reported that meeting women is easy: at bars, through friends, at work, and on the Internet. Though men want to become friends with a woman before becoming seriously involved, casual sex, they said, is easy to come by.
Reason 2: Men can enjoy the benefits of having a wife by cohabiting rather than marrying. Men think living together is a good way to test out a marriage prospect. They also view living together as less risky than marriage. At the same time, the men in the study like the convenience of having a regular sex partner. And several said they appreciate the domestic benefits of cohabitation, and the ability to share expenses, but thought marriage unnecessary at this point in life.
Reason 3: Men want to avoid divorce and its financial risks. Men feel that their financial assets are better protected if they cohabit rather than marry. They also fear that an ex-wife will take financial advantage during settlement proceedings.
Reason 4: Men want to wait until they are older to have children. Although men understand that women worry about their biological clocks, they say they don't have to. And they don't want to be pressured into marriage by women who want marriage in order to have children.
Reason 5: Men fear that marriage will require too many changes and compromises. The men savor their freedom to enjoy hobbies, late nights out and freedom from extra financial burdens. They want to postpone absorbing extra responsibilities until they are on extra-solid footing in a number of areas.
Reason 6: Men are waiting for the perfect soul mate and she hasn't yet appeared. A soul mate, the men said, is a woman who accepts them just as they are and won't try to change them. The men said they don't want to settle for second-best. In some cases, the men even said they were living with a woman who was their version of a second-best partner. These men are continuing to hunt for the perfect soul mate.
Reason 7: Men face few social pressures to marry. Today's young men encounter few traditional pressures from religion, employers or society to marry. Some said they have been mildly teased from parents who want grandchildren, but most of the men said their parents are willing to help support them -- and even allow them to move back home -- until they are ready to marry.
Reason 8: Men are reluctant to marry a woman who already has children. Men said they feel badly if they establish a relationship with the children of a woman and then break up with the mother. They also want to avoid competition and conflict with the children's biological father. One man says that it is easier to date a woman with children if the father is entirely out of the picture.
Reason 9: They want to own a house before they get a wife. Men want to be financially "set" before they marry. For many men, this means home ownership should come before marriage. Most of the men interviewed are living with a parent, relative, roommates or girlfriends.
Reason 10: Men want to enjoy a single life as long as they can. Men fear losing their solitary pleasures by marrying, the study found. And they become accustomed to their own space and routines. They enjoy the freedom of not having to be responsible to anyone else.
Other Findings
The study also reached some additional conclusions. Among them:
• Men believe it's best to become friends with a woman before asking her out on a date. Several said they are uncomfortable talking to strangers in bars and appreciate the benefits of a meaningful relationship that grows from friendship.
• The men are generally opposed to having a romantic relationship with a woman who works in their place of employment.
• The men want their wives to work outside the home. They think a wife who works will be a more interesting companion.
• Though the support working wives, the men were less supportive of working mothers. The concensus among the men interviewed is that one parent should stay home or care should be provided by a relative.
• The men were highly critical of divorce. But they feel that couples should break up if they fall out of love, even if kids are involved.
• The men were not optimistic about the future of marriage as a lifelong commitment. They said people continue to change and grow and this makes it harder to stay married to one person for a lifetime.
What Men Are Saying
Here's the reaction we've received from men nationwide.
"You should have an article on why divorced men will not marry again. The responses would be very interesting. For example:
• They've already been taken to the cleaners at least once by a prior wife.
• If a woman has kids, she really has no use for a man. She's got the house, the BMW, the kids, and his support and alimony.
• The women of today have taken the place of the man from yesteryear. They are today what they thought men were 40 years ago.
• They run the risk of meeting a female divorce attorney.
I'm not bitter, just realistic."
"It is no surprise that young men are unwilling to commit to marry when their partners are willing to live with them and provide sexual and domestic services. The old and crude adage is still true: 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?'"
"First, let me say that the problem exists for both men and women. The single life has its challenges at any age (I'm 50), and I have had trouble meeting 'Ms. Right.' In the old European days, we had the infamous 'match maker' and now we have dating services, Internet dating, and of course 'Have I got a friend for you!' In all cases, it's a roll of the dice and requires a great deal of luck. It's a sad reflection on our society that there are so many of us out there, trying every possible way to meet the person that will fill that void."
"I'm tired of the b.s. that it takes to even try to find a good woman. In 90% of my prior relationships, I gave 110% to trying to forge a marriage. But that was only good for some half-hearted affection that soon disappears after the ring is brought forth. Then it's all about what she needs, or worse yet -- what her children need. I'm tired of trying to weed through the predatory women. It costs too much to the kind man's heart. So I quit."
"Most of the guys I know have watched their friends get married and see all the problems, arguments, and b.s. that married men go through. And then they see the divorce, alimony, and child support. Case in point is my own situation. I'll never marry again."
"You forgot this reason: Getting raked over the coals for child support should divorce occur. The current system does not judge each circumstance on a case-by-case basis, and guys usually end up having their financial lives destroyed. In my opinion, men should refuse to marry until the insanity of the legal system is removed."
"The article on single males slow to commit was straight on. My reasons are the same as the men you interviewed: I still believe my destined girl is out there; I do not want to deal with another man's children; and I am afraid of the financial impact of divorce."
What Women Are Saying
American women have strong feelings on the issue as well. Here's what they had to say.
"Am I the only woman for whom a husband is not a badge of honor? I have noticed the looks on faces of my more traditional friends when I say that I do not have to be married. I have been married, and it was not what they talk about in Hallmark cards. Fortunately, my current beau is a gorgeous and fun divorcee who is also marriage-shy. This may be the most in sync I have ever been with a man!"
"I have lived with my boyfriend for eight years. We share everything, but he will not take that last step and get married. If something was to happen to him today, I would be out in the cold. I have helped him establish a home, fixed it up, and take care of it, but my name is nowhere on anything."
"The article 'Afraid to Commit: Young Men Want to Wait on Marriage' makes all women sound like they are desperate to "hook" a man! It insinuates that this is all women live for and men have total reign over this. Please get with the times! "
This is apalling. The Battle of the Sexes is now an all out war. The absolute cynicism is very disheartening. As a single, 30 year old, never been married female, I am frightened for the future, MY future. I DO want to get married now, have children, and walk through life hand in hand with my best friend. Is "he" out there? Am I unrealistic? It may be.
Feel free to respond, both to the article and/or my comments.
During my research, I have reached several painful conclusions.
1) "Traditional morals" are at an all-time low. "Should you kiss on the first date?" has been replaced "Should you sleep with someone on the first date?" The answer, as any girl of experience will tell you, is "No" but with the addendum that "If you do that, he will never call back!" Yet, from the men's point of view, a girl who saves herself for a later date is seen as a "tease" or a "marriage trap." I had one (EX!)boyfriend tell me, when I disabused him of this notion, that "What is the point in locking the barn door? The horse has already bolted!" I glared at him, took the key back, and locked the door.
2) Many men still expect to marry virgins, although inexperienced women may apply. The average American woman, by some accounts, has had 10-20 partners by age 30. 60%-80% (depending on your sources) of women have had or currently have an STD. As it is usually a man who convinces, seduces, or tricks the said woman into giving up her purity, this expectation is unfair and unreasonable.
3) Women are FURIOUS at men, to the extreme that more and more women are choosing a single life. "I would rather do it myself than trust someone to do it for me," is the mantra. Much bitterness, cynicism, and fear have created these "megawomen," and while I do not condone their behavior, I understand it.
Through many bitter relationships, emotional torment, and disappointments in my twenties, I took this stance firmly and unwaveringly. In the past couple of years however, I have realized, maybe a bit too late, that I DO want a life partner, a companion, and a friend to support me in life. As I grow older, I am less willing to take the lead in a relationship; there is something comforting in dating a man who is courteous and takes care of you.
One of the more charming things about the two Korean men I dated while here was the text messaging. Even if there was no time to speak or meet, every day I would receive short, pithy text messages with those annoyingly cute smiley/kissy faces right before going to bed. It annoyed me at first, independent woman that I am, especially as they were meaningless in words. I remember one message saying, "It's cold out tonight. Be sure and wear your coat!" Sometimes I responded, sometimes I did not. Then, one day, he (the first one) did not text. Was he angry at me? I caleld him the next day; he had gotten caught up in work until 2 a.m. and did not want to wake me up with a message on my cell phone (they make a looud noise when a message comes through).
4) And marriage? I have cut and pasted an article I came across today on http://www.LHJ.com It says it all:
Afraid to Commit: Young Men Want to Wait on Marriage
About the Study
They want kids, houses and sex. And they want women, too -- but not in the form of wives. Not until they're older.
So says the latest study to probe the minds of America's young men, aged 25 to 33. The study found 10 reasons men won't commit -- from the ease of finding sex partners to the desire to avoid financial risks of divorce.
Men do want to marry and have children eventually, the study found, and men greatly value the institution of marriage. But they love their single life and experience few of the traditional pressures from church, employers or society that once encouraged them to marry. Then, too, living together gives men many of the benefits of marriage without the obligations, the study said. And society accepts cohabitation.
The authors of the study, called The State of Our Unions, said they were puzzled by their findings, based on face-to-face group interviews with 60 heterosexual men in Chicago, New Jersey, Washington, D.C. and Houston. The majority of the men are employed full-time with reported annual incomes between $21,000 and $35,000. Most have had some college or hold a BA. None of the men were married; three had children.
"Marriage is a fundamental social institution. It is central to the nurture and raising of children... and the 'social glue' that reliably attaches fathers to children," noted the authors in their 32-page report. "[Marriage] contributes to the physical, emotional and economic health of men, women and children, and thus to the nation as a whole."
10 Reasons Men Won't Commit
Reason 1: Men can get sex without marriage more easily than in times past. The men reported that meeting women is easy: at bars, through friends, at work, and on the Internet. Though men want to become friends with a woman before becoming seriously involved, casual sex, they said, is easy to come by.
Reason 2: Men can enjoy the benefits of having a wife by cohabiting rather than marrying. Men think living together is a good way to test out a marriage prospect. They also view living together as less risky than marriage. At the same time, the men in the study like the convenience of having a regular sex partner. And several said they appreciate the domestic benefits of cohabitation, and the ability to share expenses, but thought marriage unnecessary at this point in life.
Reason 3: Men want to avoid divorce and its financial risks. Men feel that their financial assets are better protected if they cohabit rather than marry. They also fear that an ex-wife will take financial advantage during settlement proceedings.
Reason 4: Men want to wait until they are older to have children. Although men understand that women worry about their biological clocks, they say they don't have to. And they don't want to be pressured into marriage by women who want marriage in order to have children.
Reason 5: Men fear that marriage will require too many changes and compromises. The men savor their freedom to enjoy hobbies, late nights out and freedom from extra financial burdens. They want to postpone absorbing extra responsibilities until they are on extra-solid footing in a number of areas.
Reason 6: Men are waiting for the perfect soul mate and she hasn't yet appeared. A soul mate, the men said, is a woman who accepts them just as they are and won't try to change them. The men said they don't want to settle for second-best. In some cases, the men even said they were living with a woman who was their version of a second-best partner. These men are continuing to hunt for the perfect soul mate.
Reason 7: Men face few social pressures to marry. Today's young men encounter few traditional pressures from religion, employers or society to marry. Some said they have been mildly teased from parents who want grandchildren, but most of the men said their parents are willing to help support them -- and even allow them to move back home -- until they are ready to marry.
Reason 8: Men are reluctant to marry a woman who already has children. Men said they feel badly if they establish a relationship with the children of a woman and then break up with the mother. They also want to avoid competition and conflict with the children's biological father. One man says that it is easier to date a woman with children if the father is entirely out of the picture.
Reason 9: They want to own a house before they get a wife. Men want to be financially "set" before they marry. For many men, this means home ownership should come before marriage. Most of the men interviewed are living with a parent, relative, roommates or girlfriends.
Reason 10: Men want to enjoy a single life as long as they can. Men fear losing their solitary pleasures by marrying, the study found. And they become accustomed to their own space and routines. They enjoy the freedom of not having to be responsible to anyone else.
Other Findings
The study also reached some additional conclusions. Among them:
• Men believe it's best to become friends with a woman before asking her out on a date. Several said they are uncomfortable talking to strangers in bars and appreciate the benefits of a meaningful relationship that grows from friendship.
• The men are generally opposed to having a romantic relationship with a woman who works in their place of employment.
• The men want their wives to work outside the home. They think a wife who works will be a more interesting companion.
• Though the support working wives, the men were less supportive of working mothers. The concensus among the men interviewed is that one parent should stay home or care should be provided by a relative.
• The men were highly critical of divorce. But they feel that couples should break up if they fall out of love, even if kids are involved.
• The men were not optimistic about the future of marriage as a lifelong commitment. They said people continue to change and grow and this makes it harder to stay married to one person for a lifetime.
What Men Are Saying
Here's the reaction we've received from men nationwide.
"You should have an article on why divorced men will not marry again. The responses would be very interesting. For example:
• They've already been taken to the cleaners at least once by a prior wife.
• If a woman has kids, she really has no use for a man. She's got the house, the BMW, the kids, and his support and alimony.
• The women of today have taken the place of the man from yesteryear. They are today what they thought men were 40 years ago.
• They run the risk of meeting a female divorce attorney.
I'm not bitter, just realistic."
"It is no surprise that young men are unwilling to commit to marry when their partners are willing to live with them and provide sexual and domestic services. The old and crude adage is still true: 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?'"
"First, let me say that the problem exists for both men and women. The single life has its challenges at any age (I'm 50), and I have had trouble meeting 'Ms. Right.' In the old European days, we had the infamous 'match maker' and now we have dating services, Internet dating, and of course 'Have I got a friend for you!' In all cases, it's a roll of the dice and requires a great deal of luck. It's a sad reflection on our society that there are so many of us out there, trying every possible way to meet the person that will fill that void."
"I'm tired of the b.s. that it takes to even try to find a good woman. In 90% of my prior relationships, I gave 110% to trying to forge a marriage. But that was only good for some half-hearted affection that soon disappears after the ring is brought forth. Then it's all about what she needs, or worse yet -- what her children need. I'm tired of trying to weed through the predatory women. It costs too much to the kind man's heart. So I quit."
"Most of the guys I know have watched their friends get married and see all the problems, arguments, and b.s. that married men go through. And then they see the divorce, alimony, and child support. Case in point is my own situation. I'll never marry again."
"You forgot this reason: Getting raked over the coals for child support should divorce occur. The current system does not judge each circumstance on a case-by-case basis, and guys usually end up having their financial lives destroyed. In my opinion, men should refuse to marry until the insanity of the legal system is removed."
"The article on single males slow to commit was straight on. My reasons are the same as the men you interviewed: I still believe my destined girl is out there; I do not want to deal with another man's children; and I am afraid of the financial impact of divorce."
What Women Are Saying
American women have strong feelings on the issue as well. Here's what they had to say.
"Am I the only woman for whom a husband is not a badge of honor? I have noticed the looks on faces of my more traditional friends when I say that I do not have to be married. I have been married, and it was not what they talk about in Hallmark cards. Fortunately, my current beau is a gorgeous and fun divorcee who is also marriage-shy. This may be the most in sync I have ever been with a man!"
"I have lived with my boyfriend for eight years. We share everything, but he will not take that last step and get married. If something was to happen to him today, I would be out in the cold. I have helped him establish a home, fixed it up, and take care of it, but my name is nowhere on anything."
"The article 'Afraid to Commit: Young Men Want to Wait on Marriage' makes all women sound like they are desperate to "hook" a man! It insinuates that this is all women live for and men have total reign over this. Please get with the times! "
This is apalling. The Battle of the Sexes is now an all out war. The absolute cynicism is very disheartening. As a single, 30 year old, never been married female, I am frightened for the future, MY future. I DO want to get married now, have children, and walk through life hand in hand with my best friend. Is "he" out there? Am I unrealistic? It may be.
Feel free to respond, both to the article and/or my comments.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
JOURNAL: North Korea's Holiday Camp
Byeongjeom has failed to win me over even yet, so I have begun exploring other areas. My weekend mantra has become, "Gotta get out gotta get out gotta get out of here!" So I do. I am actually in pretty good financial shape; this I attribute to the fact that there is nothing to spend your money on here. This nice cash flow (though far from lucrative) has given me more travelling allowance.
During the last week of September, I had what you might call a miniature nervous breakdown. This tends to happen to even the most normal person when a) one has not slept for three weeks due to incessant noise, b) one's water and toilet have been mysteriously shut off for two weekends in a row and c) one is coming off powerful drugs (prescribed by a Western doctor) which have been messing with one's hormones for six weeks. I was frustrated, moody, anxious, bored, and deeply depressed at my situation. Culture shock? Possibly. Who knows...
I called a friend, and she suggested I needed to get out of town asap. Kathy, her boyfriend, Emma (who was also having a trying time), and I decided we were going to ALL "get out of Dodge" by taking the late train to Jeongdongjin. Jeongdongjin has the unusual distinction of having the "closest train station to the beach in the world." Guinness confirms this claim, and you can see in this picture how close the station actually is to the beach (photo taken from inside the train).
Because I was a "latecomer;" my seat was separated from my co-travellers, but we were in the same carriage. My seatmate was a very polite middle-aged woman, who courteously offered me bits of her food. I really appreciated the gesture, although the food belonged to the class of "interesting aroma." When a row of seats became empty, she moved so she could lay down. I gratefully spread out across the seats and fell asleep.
The rest of the ride was uneventful. At abour 5:30 a.m., we arrived in Jeongdonjin. Jeongdongjin is famous among Koreans for having a very intense sunrise. Taking the midnight train is considered a romatic date, and couples like to camp out on the beach or boardwalk before sunrise to await the dawn. The trains arrange their schedules accordingly so that passengers can watch the sun come up over the East Sea (Sea of Japan, for the politically incorrect); remember, the sun rises in the East!
We arrived an hour before sunrise, so we checked into a "love motel" and crashed for awhile. Every time I have stayed at one of these establishments, I have been without camera, but this time I was lucky. This motel had 1970s porno decor, complete with a round bed and strategically-placed mirrors...The requisite big box of tissue was on the bedstand, with cigarette tray close by for those post-coital moments. I didn't have the time or energy to check, but I bet ten to one there were condoms in the drawer.
We dropped off our things, and headed to the beach to watch this fabulous sunrise. We brought some kiwis, egg salad sandwiches, and other goodies for breakfast. We dandered along the crowded boardwalk, dodging canoodling couples huddling under inadequate blankets and trying desperately to look romantic. The atmosphere,however, was not particularly conducive to this sort of activity. It was neither quiet nor exactly peaceful; sleepy parents dejectedly chased down well-sugared toddlers, and "romantic" music (think circa 1950-1960) trickled out insistently from every bush and tree (where they hide the speakers). A SIDE NOTE: This is one thing that especially irks me about Korea; every activity must be accompanied by music. This includes mountain hikes, public parks, and even the parking lot under the Byeongjeom overpass (which inexplicably plays Chopin's "Nocturne in E minor").
As we went down the stairs towards the beach, we beheld yet another of Jeongdongjin's wonders - a random cruise ship on a mountain. Some entrepreneurial soul bought (or constructed) a cruise ship, and, though a stroke of genius or extremely bad taste (you decide) placed his "Love Boat" on top of the tallest headland! Next to this excrescence was a smaller boat with sails; I later found out from the guide book that the smaller ship is, in fact, a grammaphone museum!
We found a place on the beach to camp out, and plopped ourselves down with little ceremony. We munched on our sandwiches thoughtfully, and our token romantic couples tried their best to be, well, romantic. No one had brought a knife, so Emma and I added to the murmur of cooing voices with soft ptoooiiiis as we bit into each kiwi and spit out the skins.
Suddenly, an enourmous noise echoed through the beach. Everyone gazed in amazement as a speed boat came ripping though the oceanfront. The vehicle screeched around the bay, spewing water in the wake of ridiculously tight curves. The boat then turned towards the shore, and came roaring towards the beach! People nervously crept back a few feet. The boat clearly had no intention to stop. Within only five feet of shore, the captain cut the engine, then the boat bumped its way onto the sand. The man, unruffled, loudly began hawking rides. Incredibly, a family with two young boys took up his offer, and they all went squealing away as the lunatic captain spun his boat into increasingly tight and wet circles. Amazingly, yet another boat pulled in with the same sort of fanfare; clearly, this was a local tourist trap.
We never did see the sunrise; it was cloudy and overcast. We went back to the motel, and slept for about two hours.
Refreshed, we went to breakfast on the main drag. I noted with some amusement that most of the eating establishments possessed signs screaming "CAPPUCINO! COFFEE!" Not a bad idea for a place that capitalizes on sunrises! We continued on our tour, wandering aimlessly. We followed the signs to the "World's Largest Hourglass," but got hopelessly lost. As it turned out, the Hourglass was on top of the hill we kept on passing! We wandered down a country alley, wherupon we saw a poor Jindo dog caged up. He was so beautiful, but his eyes were dull and sad; they followed our movements, but the dog never lifted his head.
We then decided to head towards the Unification Park. This park was build to "commemorate" the North Korea Submarine Incident, October 1996. This was the last (acknowledged) skirmish between North and South Korea. Jeongdongjin is only a few kilometers from the DMZ coast, which makes it prime spying ground for submarines. The small submarine (I believe Russian-made)is meant to hold 6 people; the North Koreans crammed in 30 specially-trained spies. Their spy mission was effectively scuttled, however, when the warcraft got trapped by some unusual weather and scraped a nice hole in the bottom of the vessel.
Here the story itself gets slightly scuttled; what is certain is that the North Korean c.o. shot and killed 16-17 of his own men, then shot himself in the head. The incriminating paperwork was set alight inside the sub; you can still get a whiff of burned plastic in certain parts of the shaft. The computers are also melted. One report states that the bodies of the excecuted men were found on a nearby hillside; another report says the men were found inside the sub. The rest of the men fled into the neighboring hills. All of them were taken out by the South Korean military except for two; one man got away, and one man was captured. The captured man was very cooperative with his interrogators after they reportedly plied him with soju...There were also civilian and South Korean casualties in this incident. All of this info can be accessed on the Internet in various sources (links to come later).
The Unification Park is actually quite a clever piece of propoganda. The small spy submarine sits on a large waterfront property right next to....a huge decommissioned American battleship, given to the South Koreans by the US in the 1970s. This battleship, incredibly, is not in the water, but on land. From the seaside, it looks like the big bad Warship is squeezing out a small turd...Size does matter, after all. The jokes about "potency" and "size" apparently hit below the belt in these sorts of matters in certain Korean press releases...
The area is still under security; there are guard towers and soldiers at attention, surveying the rocks for any sign of trouble. The soldiers are in full fatigue and carry mean-looking weapons. There is also razor wire and "jacks" on the beach nearby. Even so, people were allowed to wander around both vessels at will. Korean tourists were even taking sneak snapshots of the guards.
At the entrance of the submarine, there is a rack with hard hats and a caution sign. We giggled at each other and took pictures, feeling a bit over-protected. Well, there was a good reason for the hats. The sub is built for senior midgets; I cracked my skull at least three times. Even Shane, who is short even for a Korean, had some difficulty navigating the tight space. There are no lights or placards; the exhibitors have left everything strictly as it was. A peculiar burnt plastic/burnt electrics smell premeated the room, as well as someting more elusive. I was very surprised to note that the melted computers and electronic equipment were in English! Hmmmm...
We ended our tour early, as I had to take the train back to Seoul. It was 6 hours each way; I was that desperate to get out of Byeongjeom. Refreshed, and deliciously tired, I slept all the way back, pausing only to eat my meager rations of roasted eggs. Roasted eggs are a popular Korean treat, however I think they would serve a better purpose as industrial rubber - very chewy and tasteless. "Great preparation for returning home," I mused sleepily.
During the last week of September, I had what you might call a miniature nervous breakdown. This tends to happen to even the most normal person when a) one has not slept for three weeks due to incessant noise, b) one's water and toilet have been mysteriously shut off for two weekends in a row and c) one is coming off powerful drugs (prescribed by a Western doctor) which have been messing with one's hormones for six weeks. I was frustrated, moody, anxious, bored, and deeply depressed at my situation. Culture shock? Possibly. Who knows...
I called a friend, and she suggested I needed to get out of town asap. Kathy, her boyfriend, Emma (who was also having a trying time), and I decided we were going to ALL "get out of Dodge" by taking the late train to Jeongdongjin. Jeongdongjin has the unusual distinction of having the "closest train station to the beach in the world." Guinness confirms this claim, and you can see in this picture how close the station actually is to the beach (photo taken from inside the train).
Because I was a "latecomer;" my seat was separated from my co-travellers, but we were in the same carriage. My seatmate was a very polite middle-aged woman, who courteously offered me bits of her food. I really appreciated the gesture, although the food belonged to the class of "interesting aroma." When a row of seats became empty, she moved so she could lay down. I gratefully spread out across the seats and fell asleep.
The rest of the ride was uneventful. At abour 5:30 a.m., we arrived in Jeongdonjin. Jeongdongjin is famous among Koreans for having a very intense sunrise. Taking the midnight train is considered a romatic date, and couples like to camp out on the beach or boardwalk before sunrise to await the dawn. The trains arrange their schedules accordingly so that passengers can watch the sun come up over the East Sea (Sea of Japan, for the politically incorrect); remember, the sun rises in the East!
We arrived an hour before sunrise, so we checked into a "love motel" and crashed for awhile. Every time I have stayed at one of these establishments, I have been without camera, but this time I was lucky. This motel had 1970s porno decor, complete with a round bed and strategically-placed mirrors...The requisite big box of tissue was on the bedstand, with cigarette tray close by for those post-coital moments. I didn't have the time or energy to check, but I bet ten to one there were condoms in the drawer.
We dropped off our things, and headed to the beach to watch this fabulous sunrise. We brought some kiwis, egg salad sandwiches, and other goodies for breakfast. We dandered along the crowded boardwalk, dodging canoodling couples huddling under inadequate blankets and trying desperately to look romantic. The atmosphere,however, was not particularly conducive to this sort of activity. It was neither quiet nor exactly peaceful; sleepy parents dejectedly chased down well-sugared toddlers, and "romantic" music (think circa 1950-1960) trickled out insistently from every bush and tree (where they hide the speakers). A SIDE NOTE: This is one thing that especially irks me about Korea; every activity must be accompanied by music. This includes mountain hikes, public parks, and even the parking lot under the Byeongjeom overpass (which inexplicably plays Chopin's "Nocturne in E minor").
As we went down the stairs towards the beach, we beheld yet another of Jeongdongjin's wonders - a random cruise ship on a mountain. Some entrepreneurial soul bought (or constructed) a cruise ship, and, though a stroke of genius or extremely bad taste (you decide) placed his "Love Boat" on top of the tallest headland! Next to this excrescence was a smaller boat with sails; I later found out from the guide book that the smaller ship is, in fact, a grammaphone museum!
We found a place on the beach to camp out, and plopped ourselves down with little ceremony. We munched on our sandwiches thoughtfully, and our token romantic couples tried their best to be, well, romantic. No one had brought a knife, so Emma and I added to the murmur of cooing voices with soft ptoooiiiis as we bit into each kiwi and spit out the skins.
Suddenly, an enourmous noise echoed through the beach. Everyone gazed in amazement as a speed boat came ripping though the oceanfront. The vehicle screeched around the bay, spewing water in the wake of ridiculously tight curves. The boat then turned towards the shore, and came roaring towards the beach! People nervously crept back a few feet. The boat clearly had no intention to stop. Within only five feet of shore, the captain cut the engine, then the boat bumped its way onto the sand. The man, unruffled, loudly began hawking rides. Incredibly, a family with two young boys took up his offer, and they all went squealing away as the lunatic captain spun his boat into increasingly tight and wet circles. Amazingly, yet another boat pulled in with the same sort of fanfare; clearly, this was a local tourist trap.
We never did see the sunrise; it was cloudy and overcast. We went back to the motel, and slept for about two hours.
Refreshed, we went to breakfast on the main drag. I noted with some amusement that most of the eating establishments possessed signs screaming "CAPPUCINO! COFFEE!" Not a bad idea for a place that capitalizes on sunrises! We continued on our tour, wandering aimlessly. We followed the signs to the "World's Largest Hourglass," but got hopelessly lost. As it turned out, the Hourglass was on top of the hill we kept on passing! We wandered down a country alley, wherupon we saw a poor Jindo dog caged up. He was so beautiful, but his eyes were dull and sad; they followed our movements, but the dog never lifted his head.
We then decided to head towards the Unification Park. This park was build to "commemorate" the North Korea Submarine Incident, October 1996. This was the last (acknowledged) skirmish between North and South Korea. Jeongdongjin is only a few kilometers from the DMZ coast, which makes it prime spying ground for submarines. The small submarine (I believe Russian-made)is meant to hold 6 people; the North Koreans crammed in 30 specially-trained spies. Their spy mission was effectively scuttled, however, when the warcraft got trapped by some unusual weather and scraped a nice hole in the bottom of the vessel.
Here the story itself gets slightly scuttled; what is certain is that the North Korean c.o. shot and killed 16-17 of his own men, then shot himself in the head. The incriminating paperwork was set alight inside the sub; you can still get a whiff of burned plastic in certain parts of the shaft. The computers are also melted. One report states that the bodies of the excecuted men were found on a nearby hillside; another report says the men were found inside the sub. The rest of the men fled into the neighboring hills. All of them were taken out by the South Korean military except for two; one man got away, and one man was captured. The captured man was very cooperative with his interrogators after they reportedly plied him with soju...There were also civilian and South Korean casualties in this incident. All of this info can be accessed on the Internet in various sources (links to come later).
The Unification Park is actually quite a clever piece of propoganda. The small spy submarine sits on a large waterfront property right next to....a huge decommissioned American battleship, given to the South Koreans by the US in the 1970s. This battleship, incredibly, is not in the water, but on land. From the seaside, it looks like the big bad Warship is squeezing out a small turd...Size does matter, after all. The jokes about "potency" and "size" apparently hit below the belt in these sorts of matters in certain Korean press releases...
The area is still under security; there are guard towers and soldiers at attention, surveying the rocks for any sign of trouble. The soldiers are in full fatigue and carry mean-looking weapons. There is also razor wire and "jacks" on the beach nearby. Even so, people were allowed to wander around both vessels at will. Korean tourists were even taking sneak snapshots of the guards.
At the entrance of the submarine, there is a rack with hard hats and a caution sign. We giggled at each other and took pictures, feeling a bit over-protected. Well, there was a good reason for the hats. The sub is built for senior midgets; I cracked my skull at least three times. Even Shane, who is short even for a Korean, had some difficulty navigating the tight space. There are no lights or placards; the exhibitors have left everything strictly as it was. A peculiar burnt plastic/burnt electrics smell premeated the room, as well as someting more elusive. I was very surprised to note that the melted computers and electronic equipment were in English! Hmmmm...
We ended our tour early, as I had to take the train back to Seoul. It was 6 hours each way; I was that desperate to get out of Byeongjeom. Refreshed, and deliciously tired, I slept all the way back, pausing only to eat my meager rations of roasted eggs. Roasted eggs are a popular Korean treat, however I think they would serve a better purpose as industrial rubber - very chewy and tasteless. "Great preparation for returning home," I mused sleepily.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
PHOTOS: Er... Yeah...
Below are some of my funnier photo moments. I am beginning to collect them and this is the first batch...
Are those for minty fresh breath?
This "rent-a-cop" car was spotted on my own campus!
The Paradise Wet Come (Love Hotel)...self explanatory.
This is actually a charismatic Catholic Church, located on the top of a GS Mart (covenience store). God bless capitalism.
One of the creepier aspects of Korean culture is the the tendency on signs to show a smiling or insufferably cute cartoon of the poor animal done in for your culinary delight. This restaurant is in my neighborhood, and serves up "man's best friend" (Boh-shin-tang) as a soup for virility. This shop is right next to the police station.
I have posted this photo before, but it remains my favorite.
Are those for minty fresh breath?
This "rent-a-cop" car was spotted on my own campus!
The Paradise Wet Come (Love Hotel)...self explanatory.
This is actually a charismatic Catholic Church, located on the top of a GS Mart (covenience store). God bless capitalism.
One of the creepier aspects of Korean culture is the the tendency on signs to show a smiling or insufferably cute cartoon of the poor animal done in for your culinary delight. This restaurant is in my neighborhood, and serves up "man's best friend" (Boh-shin-tang) as a soup for virility. This shop is right next to the police station.
I have posted this photo before, but it remains my favorite.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
JOURNAL: Working man's Viagra
First of all, I received a private comment warning that I may turn readers off if I am "too negative." Let me address this publically and assure people that this is not my intention. I am merely out of the "honeymoon period" of my stay in Korea. I still love this country, but I am now becoming more keenly aware of its faults, some of them admittedly humorous. These are things that are on my mind right now. In my defense, I have this to offer:
1. I am, and always will be, a city girl. I was brought up in the country, but the "country" in California is more culturally diverse than in the rest of the United States. In this sense, it is like a smaller urban area.
2. There are no young white women in Byeongjeom. I have one older female coworker (from Dublin); the rest of the teachers in my building are male. This is especially an issue with all of the Arab field workers in the village; I am constantly getting stared at or harassed.
3. The noise factor.
These three items alone would drive any sane person to drink. Together, they just make life more interesting. I am slowly learning to cope, but it is not easy.
So, what keeps me going? The funny little "hmmmmm" moments mostly. I had two tonight.
I was walking home from the bus stop this evening, when I noticed something odd. There are a couple of bosintang (dogmeat soup) restaurants along my route home, and tonight one of them gave me pause. They look like average Korean restuarants usually, but this one had a difference. I peeked in as I walked by out of morbid curiosity, and noticed that there were "girly" posters on the wall. Bosingtang, I am told, is the working man's Viagra. A short, stocky, and muscular man came out, and I hurried by. He apparently didn't see me, or if he did, he didn't mind my curiosity.
The street is a bit dark, and as I mentioned, has a small red light district. Each
night, there are hundreds and hundreds of flyers scattered on the street and taped to car windows. I personally would find the taping of flyers onto my windshield annoying. These posters usually offer various "services," phone numbers, and directions to the establishments. They are so common that I am even beginning to recognize each individual one. I often wondered who put them out, and how they get away with it. Tonight, I got a slight clue, although I don't know where it leads yet.
The man from the restaurant began walking down the street with a notepad in his hand. He looked at every car with a flyer stuck to it and made a note of it. He began counting the flyers, like taking inventory. He also appeared to be replacing them as he went along, although I couldn't see what he was actually doing. I surmise that one of the "businesses" is on the second floor, and he is associated with it somehow. It does make good business sense to sell virility remedies and professional companionship in the same building. Perhaps they are in cahoots together.
Musing on this theory, I continued my journey home. The fighter jets were particularly frequent and loud this evening, so my reverie was interrupted every time I had to put my hands to my ears. Suddenly, I remembered what my coworker had said about the roof of our building. Curiosity got the better of me, so I dropped off my packages and climbed the stairs.
The view on the roof was breathtaking. I could see the layout of the munincipality, and the rice fields green and lush. The smoky mountains in the distance were dotted with traditional houses, and the lights from the light traffice snaked up the shallow mountain passes. I then observed the light show as the fighter jets performed their nocturnal maneuvers, their sleek and lithe bodies circling the dark as they cut through the night sky...They swooped so close that I could see every detail of their bodies. Almost as good as people watching.
So, in short, I have found entertainment of a sort, on the roof of my apartment building. People hang their wash up there, and I noticed some chalk art on the ground. With a table and chairs, it might make a nice patio...Bar the ear-splitting takeoffs and landings at the air force base.
1. I am, and always will be, a city girl. I was brought up in the country, but the "country" in California is more culturally diverse than in the rest of the United States. In this sense, it is like a smaller urban area.
2. There are no young white women in Byeongjeom. I have one older female coworker (from Dublin); the rest of the teachers in my building are male. This is especially an issue with all of the Arab field workers in the village; I am constantly getting stared at or harassed.
3. The noise factor.
These three items alone would drive any sane person to drink. Together, they just make life more interesting. I am slowly learning to cope, but it is not easy.
So, what keeps me going? The funny little "hmmmmm" moments mostly. I had two tonight.
I was walking home from the bus stop this evening, when I noticed something odd. There are a couple of bosintang (dogmeat soup) restaurants along my route home, and tonight one of them gave me pause. They look like average Korean restuarants usually, but this one had a difference. I peeked in as I walked by out of morbid curiosity, and noticed that there were "girly" posters on the wall. Bosingtang, I am told, is the working man's Viagra. A short, stocky, and muscular man came out, and I hurried by. He apparently didn't see me, or if he did, he didn't mind my curiosity.
The street is a bit dark, and as I mentioned, has a small red light district. Each
night, there are hundreds and hundreds of flyers scattered on the street and taped to car windows. I personally would find the taping of flyers onto my windshield annoying. These posters usually offer various "services," phone numbers, and directions to the establishments. They are so common that I am even beginning to recognize each individual one. I often wondered who put them out, and how they get away with it. Tonight, I got a slight clue, although I don't know where it leads yet.
The man from the restaurant began walking down the street with a notepad in his hand. He looked at every car with a flyer stuck to it and made a note of it. He began counting the flyers, like taking inventory. He also appeared to be replacing them as he went along, although I couldn't see what he was actually doing. I surmise that one of the "businesses" is on the second floor, and he is associated with it somehow. It does make good business sense to sell virility remedies and professional companionship in the same building. Perhaps they are in cahoots together.
Musing on this theory, I continued my journey home. The fighter jets were particularly frequent and loud this evening, so my reverie was interrupted every time I had to put my hands to my ears. Suddenly, I remembered what my coworker had said about the roof of our building. Curiosity got the better of me, so I dropped off my packages and climbed the stairs.
The view on the roof was breathtaking. I could see the layout of the munincipality, and the rice fields green and lush. The smoky mountains in the distance were dotted with traditional houses, and the lights from the light traffice snaked up the shallow mountain passes. I then observed the light show as the fighter jets performed their nocturnal maneuvers, their sleek and lithe bodies circling the dark as they cut through the night sky...They swooped so close that I could see every detail of their bodies. Almost as good as people watching.
So, in short, I have found entertainment of a sort, on the roof of my apartment building. People hang their wash up there, and I noticed some chalk art on the ground. With a table and chairs, it might make a nice patio...Bar the ear-splitting takeoffs and landings at the air force base.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
NOTE: Interested in North Korea?
I have been, once again, delving into Asian history. I am currently reading (and, frankly, weeping) through THE RAPE OF NANKING by Iris Chang. It is the long hidden story, backed by pages and pages of meticulous research, of the Japanese occupation of the ancient Chinese city of Nanking. The atrocities committed outnumber anything the Nazis did during the same period; in fact, a high-ranking member of the Nazi party, John Rabe, witnessed these events, obtained film footage from a local missionary, and sent it to Hitler hoping that Hitler might intervene (he did not). The rapes, murders, and excecutions are well-documented and photgraphed by missionaries, medical workers, and survivors. It is in direct result of this incident that the Japanese began kidnapping "comfort women" from Korea, China, and the Phillipines, to prevent these wanton rapes and murders.
If you are interested in this incident, an excellent website is:
http://www.bergen.org/AAST/Projects/ChinaHistory/rape.html
Be warned, the photos (some taken by Japanese soldiers as "trophies") are not for the faint-hearted.
I have searched the internet for the film footage by Epsicopalian priest John McGee, but it is locked up in a museum in Los Angeles, though it "tours" from time to time. If you read the book, be warned, it is gruesome, and, as stated above, the photos are beyond disturbing. If you have a genuine interest in a forgotten piece of World War II history, then this is an excellent start. Although the first half of the book is dedicated to the gory details, the second half deals with the heroes. Ms. Chang paints an even-handed picture, and one can even sense some sympathy for some of the Japanese soldiers.
Iris Chang, for those of you who may not know, was a Chinese American from San Jose. Her writing style is sympathetic yet hard-hitting. Unfortunately, two years ago she shot herself in the head after a post-partum breakdown complicated by the nature of her research. Her books deal with the tramatic, and often times, enigmatically brutal, incidents of Asian history.
I mention this because the longer I live here, the less I understand this place. Many things I will never understand, nor should I expect to. South Korea is quite mum on the North; although opinions flow freely, no one seems to offer hard evidence in the local media. I think the issue of North Korea still gets heavily censored here. With good cause, given that the enemy is at the gates!
While in America, I was fortunate to view a documentary, filmed by some Dutch journalists, of North Korea. It is a recent film, and the journalists don't quite know what to make of the Hermit Kingdom. The thing that strikes the journalists and the viewers is how silent Pyungyang is. There are almost no people on the street, and interaction with locals is strictly limited. We are left more bemused than enlightened by this film, as we are intended to be.
I was just online researching trips to North Korea; there is one leaving in November from Seoul that I might be able to get on. Of course, we will be heavily guarded, and our movements will be restricted. If I go, I will of course document it. That said, I found video footage that is a little more enlightening on North Korea.
A very brave young man filmed his adventures (and nearly got imprisoned) in the North. You can find his footage at:
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=alilameda
He was able to speak with actual residents, and, although the camera quality is poor, you can see more of the country. I hope this young man will get the footage edited and organized into his own documentary so that it may reach a wider audience.
If you are interested in this incident, an excellent website is:
http://www.bergen.org/AAST/Projects/ChinaHistory/rape.html
Be warned, the photos (some taken by Japanese soldiers as "trophies") are not for the faint-hearted.
I have searched the internet for the film footage by Epsicopalian priest John McGee, but it is locked up in a museum in Los Angeles, though it "tours" from time to time. If you read the book, be warned, it is gruesome, and, as stated above, the photos are beyond disturbing. If you have a genuine interest in a forgotten piece of World War II history, then this is an excellent start. Although the first half of the book is dedicated to the gory details, the second half deals with the heroes. Ms. Chang paints an even-handed picture, and one can even sense some sympathy for some of the Japanese soldiers.
Iris Chang, for those of you who may not know, was a Chinese American from San Jose. Her writing style is sympathetic yet hard-hitting. Unfortunately, two years ago she shot herself in the head after a post-partum breakdown complicated by the nature of her research. Her books deal with the tramatic, and often times, enigmatically brutal, incidents of Asian history.
I mention this because the longer I live here, the less I understand this place. Many things I will never understand, nor should I expect to. South Korea is quite mum on the North; although opinions flow freely, no one seems to offer hard evidence in the local media. I think the issue of North Korea still gets heavily censored here. With good cause, given that the enemy is at the gates!
While in America, I was fortunate to view a documentary, filmed by some Dutch journalists, of North Korea. It is a recent film, and the journalists don't quite know what to make of the Hermit Kingdom. The thing that strikes the journalists and the viewers is how silent Pyungyang is. There are almost no people on the street, and interaction with locals is strictly limited. We are left more bemused than enlightened by this film, as we are intended to be.
I was just online researching trips to North Korea; there is one leaving in November from Seoul that I might be able to get on. Of course, we will be heavily guarded, and our movements will be restricted. If I go, I will of course document it. That said, I found video footage that is a little more enlightening on North Korea.
A very brave young man filmed his adventures (and nearly got imprisoned) in the North. You can find his footage at:
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=alilameda
He was able to speak with actual residents, and, although the camera quality is poor, you can see more of the country. I hope this young man will get the footage edited and organized into his own documentary so that it may reach a wider audience.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
JOURNAL: Abandone Ye Hope of Slumber All Ye Who Enter Here
First, a little business. I have discovered a nice website with good forums on living in Korea. It also has a nice list of other Korean blogs. It is located at:
http://usfkforums.com
P.S. Does anyone out there know how to do a link exchange?!
I have been having difficulties getting into my blog for a couple of weeks now, but the problem appears to have mysteriously resolved itself. Hmm...
I am now getting used to my new neighborhood, although there are things that are definately less-than-thrilling about it. This photo is of my "backyard." Enough said.
The noise pollution is ridiculous, especially the fighter jets every twelve minutes, starting at 7:30am. The planes are so low flying that one can see all the details of the plane's underbelly. My neighbor said that if you go up to the roof, you can actually wave at the pilots as they go by... We appear to be on the direct flight path to a small airbase in Seryu, the next subway stop over.
The planes appear to use the major road that runs parallel to the train station for navigation purposes. If I stand in my parking lot, the planes go symetrically in between the two buildings in the complex, which parallels the main road. Even at the University of Suwon(as pictured, left) you can see the fighter jets.
The neighborhood is very busy during peak times (early morning/late evening)but there is a certain stillness in the afternoon. In the morning, the farmers send out their trucks and go to the fields. They live in the "human filing cabinets" (highrises) on the edge of town. In this sense, tradition has died, and only run-down relics of traditional housing remain. Warehouses are intermixed with residential areas, causing much bustle and confusion with the traffic.
The traffic has its own peculiarities - I can safely say that Korea has reinvented the concept of "gridlock." They are the Scotsmen of Asia in that they will pinch a penny until it screams, especially in matters of public transportation. There are very nice traffic lights and street lights in Byeongjeom (the name of the town) but they appear to me to be unutilized. I asked someone about this, and was told that it was because the "city" (haha!) did not want to pay the money to keep them running. This presents an interesting problem. The major intersections of Byeongjeom are only controlled by blinking yellow lights. The traffic signals have the redlight/greenlight equipment, but these functions are never turned on.
Now picture, if you will, a typical country town. Roads are not generally laid out in an organized way; they just run helter skelter, "as needed," like spokes on a wheel. In the center of this wheel is downtown. Take away the definitive lights, throw in a discretionary yellow in a country of people who like "boundaries" and what do you get? A traffic standstill. I sat in the center of the intersection for TEN MINUTES while drivers sat there just hopelessly staring at each other.
The non-functional streetlights are a subject of concern for me because I live in an area on the edge of the red light district. This is complicated by the fact that there is also a legitimate row of male-run Arab businesses on the same street. The business owners themselves are quite pleasant and speak English well, but some of their clients are a bit creepy. I am the lone single, white, youngish female in the village, and I do get approached by some of the shady characters around the "barbershops." I do not believe myself to be in danger, as there is also a police station nearby, but I am still very cautious...
My craziest experience so far, however, has got to be the bus ride to work. This is a daily occurence and each day is an adventure. The country buses, I have discovered, have no shocks, the drivers have no concern for safety (to put it mildly), and one must become a gymnast in order to stay upright. During rush hour, you must of course stand and grab onto a bar or handle. The handles are O shaped, like the Olympic rings; I quickly learned to jostle for position next to a support pole instead.
The road to the school is a remote and twisted country road with unexpected pull-offs, bumps, and occasional potholes. There are caution/drive slowly/danger signs every 50 meters or so, and the city has installed speed humps at strategic points along the way. The bus driver knows this, and accordingly, slams on the brakes right as he hits the hump. I have seen kids and old ladies literally go flying across the bus when he does this; we-who-are-left-standing cushion them with outstretched hands as best as we can. The bus drivers ride the asses of cars and other buses, blast their horns if they do not give way, and swerve around them if they stubbornly hold to their right-of-way. The old timers, who have probably driven this route since it WAS a dirt road, are the most dangerous drivers. I have learned to recognize one of the older drivers, and I will wait for the next bus and risk being late rather than ride with HIM...
http://usfkforums.com
P.S. Does anyone out there know how to do a link exchange?!
I have been having difficulties getting into my blog for a couple of weeks now, but the problem appears to have mysteriously resolved itself. Hmm...
I am now getting used to my new neighborhood, although there are things that are definately less-than-thrilling about it. This photo is of my "backyard." Enough said.
The noise pollution is ridiculous, especially the fighter jets every twelve minutes, starting at 7:30am. The planes are so low flying that one can see all the details of the plane's underbelly. My neighbor said that if you go up to the roof, you can actually wave at the pilots as they go by... We appear to be on the direct flight path to a small airbase in Seryu, the next subway stop over.
The planes appear to use the major road that runs parallel to the train station for navigation purposes. If I stand in my parking lot, the planes go symetrically in between the two buildings in the complex, which parallels the main road. Even at the University of Suwon(as pictured, left) you can see the fighter jets.
The neighborhood is very busy during peak times (early morning/late evening)but there is a certain stillness in the afternoon. In the morning, the farmers send out their trucks and go to the fields. They live in the "human filing cabinets" (highrises) on the edge of town. In this sense, tradition has died, and only run-down relics of traditional housing remain. Warehouses are intermixed with residential areas, causing much bustle and confusion with the traffic.
The traffic has its own peculiarities - I can safely say that Korea has reinvented the concept of "gridlock." They are the Scotsmen of Asia in that they will pinch a penny until it screams, especially in matters of public transportation. There are very nice traffic lights and street lights in Byeongjeom (the name of the town) but they appear to me to be unutilized. I asked someone about this, and was told that it was because the "city" (haha!) did not want to pay the money to keep them running. This presents an interesting problem. The major intersections of Byeongjeom are only controlled by blinking yellow lights. The traffic signals have the redlight/greenlight equipment, but these functions are never turned on.
Now picture, if you will, a typical country town. Roads are not generally laid out in an organized way; they just run helter skelter, "as needed," like spokes on a wheel. In the center of this wheel is downtown. Take away the definitive lights, throw in a discretionary yellow in a country of people who like "boundaries" and what do you get? A traffic standstill. I sat in the center of the intersection for TEN MINUTES while drivers sat there just hopelessly staring at each other.
The non-functional streetlights are a subject of concern for me because I live in an area on the edge of the red light district. This is complicated by the fact that there is also a legitimate row of male-run Arab businesses on the same street. The business owners themselves are quite pleasant and speak English well, but some of their clients are a bit creepy. I am the lone single, white, youngish female in the village, and I do get approached by some of the shady characters around the "barbershops." I do not believe myself to be in danger, as there is also a police station nearby, but I am still very cautious...
My craziest experience so far, however, has got to be the bus ride to work. This is a daily occurence and each day is an adventure. The country buses, I have discovered, have no shocks, the drivers have no concern for safety (to put it mildly), and one must become a gymnast in order to stay upright. During rush hour, you must of course stand and grab onto a bar or handle. The handles are O shaped, like the Olympic rings; I quickly learned to jostle for position next to a support pole instead.
The road to the school is a remote and twisted country road with unexpected pull-offs, bumps, and occasional potholes. There are caution/drive slowly/danger signs every 50 meters or so, and the city has installed speed humps at strategic points along the way. The bus driver knows this, and accordingly, slams on the brakes right as he hits the hump. I have seen kids and old ladies literally go flying across the bus when he does this; we-who-are-left-standing cushion them with outstretched hands as best as we can. The bus drivers ride the asses of cars and other buses, blast their horns if they do not give way, and swerve around them if they stubbornly hold to their right-of-way. The old timers, who have probably driven this route since it WAS a dirt road, are the most dangerous drivers. I have learned to recognize one of the older drivers, and I will wait for the next bus and risk being late rather than ride with HIM...
Saturday, August 26, 2006
JOURNAL: The River Styx
I am back in Korea, and all I can say is that this time around will require a HUGE adjustment. I am now living in Hwaseong City, which has the peculiar distinction of being the home of Korea's only known serial killer (never captured). It also has the largest amount of farmland in Gyonggi province. Pity I didn't know this before I signed on for a year.
I am now a professor at a univeristy just outside of Suwon. When I interviewed for the position, I took a taxi. I did note that we were getting a bit in the country, but not far enough away from Suwon for me to get overly alarmed at the time. I was informed that my accomodations were a twenty minute bus ride away from the university; I assumed that this meant I would be living in the city, as there were no apparent apartment complexes near the universty. Instead, I got the small village of Byeong-jeom.
After a relaxing and pampering flight in on Singapore Airlines, I hopped a taxi to the address given to me. As we got further and further away from civilization, I really became nervous. The taxi driver called my contact twice to get directions. We came through a rather short strip of a rural downtown, with neon lights proclaiming PC Bongs, "Saxy bar," and kim bap shops. We passed by the double barber poles and strip joints, whereupon the town ended. We went down a small, narrow, one way road, and the driver pulled off into a parking lot. There was a small apartment complex, and the driver said, with a smirk, "Shangri-la officetel."
The property wasn't much to look at; trash overflowed from the dumpster area (the building is being renovated), and there were no lights. The driver assisted me with my luggage, and we went into the apartment marked 501. It was a shithole.
Half of the wall-covering, a mysterious thick gray felt substance, was off the wall. The place clearly had never been cleaned; the white kitchen area was grimy with soot and grease, and the refrigerator smelled like rotten meat. My bare feet become black from the floor, and there was no bedding on the bed. Still, the furniture was new, including a dinette, new mattress, and a fabulous orange vinyl couch! My contact person arrived, and did a double take when he saw the mess. He very kindly took me shopping for bedding, dishes, cleaning supplies, etc. I then returned and fell into an exhausted sleep.
I was startled awake by pounding on the door. Two workmen insisted on coming in. It appears that the ugly wall felt was new; they had come to finish the job. I let them in, and they went to work. Actually, I didn't sleep well anyway because:
a)The Korail/subway line runs right past my bathroom window
b) The building is right next to an overpass
c) We are in the direct flight path of the local Air Force base
d) There is a dog farm next door(not sure whether they are "eating dogs" or breeding dogs)
The workmen left, and I talked to my contact. He promised that someone would come in and clean. They did, sort of; the renovation mess was gone by the time I got back and the floor had apparently been swept. It took me two days to clean the kitchen; it is actually pretty decent under the grit.
I have been in the apartment for four days, and it does have its charm, in a shabby chic sort of way. There is not one straight line in the place; building codes are apparently non-existent out here. The baseboards and panelling are cheap particle board with veneer. The kitchen sink doors do not hang straight, which drives me nuts, but they close! The only thing that concerns me is that there are weak spots in the floor. They sag when I walk across them. The ondol pipes will prevent me from falling through the floor; even so, I have no intention of testing that theory. Because of the shoddy workmanship, I can see concrete at the edge of the wooden floor, which actually reassures me somewhat. The building itself appears to be solidly built; fighter jets regularly fly over, trains run next to it, and it doesn't shake or rattle as some buildings would.
When you look at the room as a whole, and don't look to closely at the workmanship, the design is actually rather charming. I think that the owner had good intentions, but chose economy over functionality.
I am now a professor at a univeristy just outside of Suwon. When I interviewed for the position, I took a taxi. I did note that we were getting a bit in the country, but not far enough away from Suwon for me to get overly alarmed at the time. I was informed that my accomodations were a twenty minute bus ride away from the university; I assumed that this meant I would be living in the city, as there were no apparent apartment complexes near the universty. Instead, I got the small village of Byeong-jeom.
After a relaxing and pampering flight in on Singapore Airlines, I hopped a taxi to the address given to me. As we got further and further away from civilization, I really became nervous. The taxi driver called my contact twice to get directions. We came through a rather short strip of a rural downtown, with neon lights proclaiming PC Bongs, "Saxy bar," and kim bap shops. We passed by the double barber poles and strip joints, whereupon the town ended. We went down a small, narrow, one way road, and the driver pulled off into a parking lot. There was a small apartment complex, and the driver said, with a smirk, "Shangri-la officetel."
The property wasn't much to look at; trash overflowed from the dumpster area (the building is being renovated), and there were no lights. The driver assisted me with my luggage, and we went into the apartment marked 501. It was a shithole.
Half of the wall-covering, a mysterious thick gray felt substance, was off the wall. The place clearly had never been cleaned; the white kitchen area was grimy with soot and grease, and the refrigerator smelled like rotten meat. My bare feet become black from the floor, and there was no bedding on the bed. Still, the furniture was new, including a dinette, new mattress, and a fabulous orange vinyl couch! My contact person arrived, and did a double take when he saw the mess. He very kindly took me shopping for bedding, dishes, cleaning supplies, etc. I then returned and fell into an exhausted sleep.
I was startled awake by pounding on the door. Two workmen insisted on coming in. It appears that the ugly wall felt was new; they had come to finish the job. I let them in, and they went to work. Actually, I didn't sleep well anyway because:
a)The Korail/subway line runs right past my bathroom window
b) The building is right next to an overpass
c) We are in the direct flight path of the local Air Force base
d) There is a dog farm next door(not sure whether they are "eating dogs" or breeding dogs)
The workmen left, and I talked to my contact. He promised that someone would come in and clean. They did, sort of; the renovation mess was gone by the time I got back and the floor had apparently been swept. It took me two days to clean the kitchen; it is actually pretty decent under the grit.
I have been in the apartment for four days, and it does have its charm, in a shabby chic sort of way. There is not one straight line in the place; building codes are apparently non-existent out here. The baseboards and panelling are cheap particle board with veneer. The kitchen sink doors do not hang straight, which drives me nuts, but they close! The only thing that concerns me is that there are weak spots in the floor. They sag when I walk across them. The ondol pipes will prevent me from falling through the floor; even so, I have no intention of testing that theory. Because of the shoddy workmanship, I can see concrete at the edge of the wooden floor, which actually reassures me somewhat. The building itself appears to be solidly built; fighter jets regularly fly over, trains run next to it, and it doesn't shake or rattle as some buildings would.
When you look at the room as a whole, and don't look to closely at the workmanship, the design is actually rather charming. I think that the owner had good intentions, but chose economy over functionality.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
NOTE: Back in Korea
I will be temporarily unavailable, but I will update my blog next week.
I am back in Korea, and I am getting settled just now.
I am back in Korea, and I am getting settled just now.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Journal: Coming and Going
I am now safely back in the United States for a month. I have had ten days "rest," though some of it was lest than restful. How do I feel about it? Well, the jury is out. Some very tragic things have happened since I came home, but there have been benefits as well.
A day after I arrived home, the news reached me that a very dear former coworker had suddenly died of cancer. She was the very first person to welcome me to MIlpitas High School when I began working there in 2002, something I really appreciated. I attended her wake and funeral; her "thousand-watt smile" and cheerful attitude will be sorely missed. She was a very caring and maternal "earth mother" type; a coronet of flowers adorned her still beautiful fair hair, and under her rosary and in her hands someone had placed her favorite treat, a Hershey bar. She would have gotten a kick out of all of it, especially the Janis Joplin exit music.
The good news is that I have cleared a lot of debt. Considering the state I was in when I left, I have done very well, or at least I try to believe that I have. I will not, as I previously hoped, be able (on my lower salary) to clear ALL of my debt, as I had originally planned; this is distressing, but a long drive this evening cleared my head and I feel a little better.
I have finally secured a job at the University of Suwon; the salary is less than stellar, in fact, it is quite laughable given the qualifications they were looking for. Even so, I look at it as a resume builder. I will gain experience in a smaller Korean town teaching adults and university students (nevr confuse the two in Korea!).
But the Korean system is based, after all, on bringing in people who cannot or will not function the way a "normal" person should in their own society; some of the people I have met along the way have given me pause to say, "Whoa! Am I really like that?" Certainly I fit this in that I have never needed the fancy car, the house, or the money. The irony is that I cannot even get what I do want - a modest condo or apartment in the coastal area...But I am very sane compared to some of the characters I have met, or at least I flatter myself that this is so.
When I got in the taxi to leave Seoul, I immediately knew my trip was going to be interesting. It had been pouring rain for several days, and parts of the freeway system were flooded. The taxi driver darted in and out of the city several times in order to avoid the floods. It took so long that my bladder gave out, and we had to stop at a gas station. I left everything in the taxi except my plane ticket and my purse. When I came out, we got on the freeway again. Then, I realized that I had left my e-ticket in the bathroom. The driver was kind enough to turn around; fortunately, it was still there.
We finally arrived at Incheon, and the journey through immigration went smoothly. The ticket given to me was "Economy Plus," so I felt very lucky (5 inches extra leg room). The first plane took off, and we had a very bumpy ride to Nippon (Japan). I managed to sleep most of the time, in spite of stomach churning turbulence. Once on the ground, I tried to get some money changed. After several consultations with a very inconvenient computer map, I found the currency exchange. They would not, however, exchange my won for dollars, even though they said they were full service.
I boarded the next plane, which proved to be a vintage Boeing 747 built sometime in the 1970s by the looks and sounds of it. Every twist and bump caused the plane to creak. To my horror, I discovered that I had been placed in a "sandwich seat" between two male passangers. The window seat passenger was a good-looking and entertaining Korean American grad student (UCLA) who was also, alas for me, very tall and leggy. On the aisle sat an Army reservist fire chief from Santa Fe; he was in his fifties and had quite a bit of trouble with his knee on the flight. Both companions were pleasant; I wish I had gotten the grad student's phone number!
I arrived in LAX with about two hours to spare. As this was considered the point of entry, the plane had to unload the luggage so we could carry it to customs. I had two very large and heavy bags to deal with, so I took advantage of the free baggage carts. Unfortunately, the baggage carousel broke down. Two more international flights came in, and they were being unloaded onto the same carousel. Throught fits and starts, the baggage was unloaded. An hour later, I heave-hoed my massive baggage off. I fought valiantly with the baggage cart and finally won. I knew I was in America because not one person offered to help me get my luggage on the cart, though I was swearing, huffing, and puffing. In Korea, I would have had at least three people try to help.
I then got into the long line through customs and went through pretty smoothly. I put my baggage on another carousel and pulled out my ticket. I asked an airport security guard for directions; she was very pleasant, and indicated that the terminal was a "two minute walk" from the international terminal. Actually, it was fifteen minutes in scorching heat. I got there just in time to be harassed by security. When I left America, security was only doing selective screening of shoes, laptops, etc. The rude guard gave me attitude when I expressed confusion about taking off my hiking boots and taking my laptop out of its case. He then got squiffy when I took a long time to do it (there was no one else in line), hiking boots not being an easy item to remove in a hurry. Both he and the technician then laughed at me because I was not wearing socks (long story there) and I was being very delicate about putting my bare feet on the filthy floor (in Asian countries, they give you temporary slippers).
The puddle jumper flight was uneventful; I had a nice chat with my seatmate about living abroad. My family was at the airport to meet me, as well as two of my friends.
A day after I arrived home, the news reached me that a very dear former coworker had suddenly died of cancer. She was the very first person to welcome me to MIlpitas High School when I began working there in 2002, something I really appreciated. I attended her wake and funeral; her "thousand-watt smile" and cheerful attitude will be sorely missed. She was a very caring and maternal "earth mother" type; a coronet of flowers adorned her still beautiful fair hair, and under her rosary and in her hands someone had placed her favorite treat, a Hershey bar. She would have gotten a kick out of all of it, especially the Janis Joplin exit music.
The good news is that I have cleared a lot of debt. Considering the state I was in when I left, I have done very well, or at least I try to believe that I have. I will not, as I previously hoped, be able (on my lower salary) to clear ALL of my debt, as I had originally planned; this is distressing, but a long drive this evening cleared my head and I feel a little better.
I have finally secured a job at the University of Suwon; the salary is less than stellar, in fact, it is quite laughable given the qualifications they were looking for. Even so, I look at it as a resume builder. I will gain experience in a smaller Korean town teaching adults and university students (nevr confuse the two in Korea!).
But the Korean system is based, after all, on bringing in people who cannot or will not function the way a "normal" person should in their own society; some of the people I have met along the way have given me pause to say, "Whoa! Am I really like that?" Certainly I fit this in that I have never needed the fancy car, the house, or the money. The irony is that I cannot even get what I do want - a modest condo or apartment in the coastal area...But I am very sane compared to some of the characters I have met, or at least I flatter myself that this is so.
When I got in the taxi to leave Seoul, I immediately knew my trip was going to be interesting. It had been pouring rain for several days, and parts of the freeway system were flooded. The taxi driver darted in and out of the city several times in order to avoid the floods. It took so long that my bladder gave out, and we had to stop at a gas station. I left everything in the taxi except my plane ticket and my purse. When I came out, we got on the freeway again. Then, I realized that I had left my e-ticket in the bathroom. The driver was kind enough to turn around; fortunately, it was still there.
We finally arrived at Incheon, and the journey through immigration went smoothly. The ticket given to me was "Economy Plus," so I felt very lucky (5 inches extra leg room). The first plane took off, and we had a very bumpy ride to Nippon (Japan). I managed to sleep most of the time, in spite of stomach churning turbulence. Once on the ground, I tried to get some money changed. After several consultations with a very inconvenient computer map, I found the currency exchange. They would not, however, exchange my won for dollars, even though they said they were full service.
I boarded the next plane, which proved to be a vintage Boeing 747 built sometime in the 1970s by the looks and sounds of it. Every twist and bump caused the plane to creak. To my horror, I discovered that I had been placed in a "sandwich seat" between two male passangers. The window seat passenger was a good-looking and entertaining Korean American grad student (UCLA) who was also, alas for me, very tall and leggy. On the aisle sat an Army reservist fire chief from Santa Fe; he was in his fifties and had quite a bit of trouble with his knee on the flight. Both companions were pleasant; I wish I had gotten the grad student's phone number!
I arrived in LAX with about two hours to spare. As this was considered the point of entry, the plane had to unload the luggage so we could carry it to customs. I had two very large and heavy bags to deal with, so I took advantage of the free baggage carts. Unfortunately, the baggage carousel broke down. Two more international flights came in, and they were being unloaded onto the same carousel. Throught fits and starts, the baggage was unloaded. An hour later, I heave-hoed my massive baggage off. I fought valiantly with the baggage cart and finally won. I knew I was in America because not one person offered to help me get my luggage on the cart, though I was swearing, huffing, and puffing. In Korea, I would have had at least three people try to help.
I then got into the long line through customs and went through pretty smoothly. I put my baggage on another carousel and pulled out my ticket. I asked an airport security guard for directions; she was very pleasant, and indicated that the terminal was a "two minute walk" from the international terminal. Actually, it was fifteen minutes in scorching heat. I got there just in time to be harassed by security. When I left America, security was only doing selective screening of shoes, laptops, etc. The rude guard gave me attitude when I expressed confusion about taking off my hiking boots and taking my laptop out of its case. He then got squiffy when I took a long time to do it (there was no one else in line), hiking boots not being an easy item to remove in a hurry. Both he and the technician then laughed at me because I was not wearing socks (long story there) and I was being very delicate about putting my bare feet on the filthy floor (in Asian countries, they give you temporary slippers).
The puddle jumper flight was uneventful; I had a nice chat with my seatmate about living abroad. My family was at the airport to meet me, as well as two of my friends.
Monday, July 10, 2006
JOURNAL: Man Versus the Machine
Well, I have officially begun packing to return to the US. My last work day is July 12; I leave Korea on July 16th, and arrive in San Jose a half hour after I left, according to my ticket...I have a two hour stopover in Narita (Japan); hopefully the Japanese will hold off their counter attack against N. Korea while I am there...
I was penniless when I came here, and now I am jobless as well. I have had no luck on my university job hunt. Sigh. Maybe it is time to flip some burgers....But maybe I am too cocky; maybe working an extra three years to get an MA was not worth it in the end. Maybe it IS just a piece of paper with no meaning behind it. I love literature, and I love the English language. Maybe there is no room for it in this world.
This is my blessing and my curse. I am an academic at heart, an academic who dearly loves teaching AND research. I need the university environment to thrive. This hit me as I began devising Plan B, returning to school for my CELTA certification. It is true that teachers are lifelong learners. I revel in seemingly useless details. I just finished a unit with my second graders on plant reproduction, an area I had never given much thought to (as most of us don't). I learned how a plant makes seeds and how to label their reproductive organs because I had to teach it. You learn in order to teach.
From my students, I have learned a great deal of Korean history and folklore. If asked an essay question on the March 3 Movement in Korea, I could give reasonably accurate details about the Protestant clergymen and students who marched to Topgol Square and declared their independence from Japan in 1911 (causing a bloody massacre). Why does this matter? It doesn't to us; we barely talk about the Korean War (30 years later) in U.S. history class. I didn't even know there WAS a Korean War until I went to college. I have gained a wide-world view from my life here; what happens on a tiny, isolated penninsula has world-wide impact on so-called democracy. Note the current thunderings from "the North."
I have digressed quite a bit from my original intentions, so, without further ado and on a lighter note....
MAN VERSUS MACHINE
I seldom get in trouble at work, but when I do, it is usually a big thing.
On Wednesday, I had a particularly rotten day. I had only one hour of sleep due to a foul, mysterious odor in my apartment. I had noticed it earlier in the week, but no amount of searching could find the source. It smelled peculiarly of "dead mouse;" I know this because while I was in high school, a mouse (caught in a trap) fell from the attic into the wall space of the spare bedroom, whereupon it died and rotted all winter. Well, this night the aroma was especially bad. I traced the source to under my air conditioner (which is directly above my bed) and found the odor to be overpoweringly strong. I stood on my bed and peered up. The entire inside of my A/C was coated in mold, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to sleep, but to no avail.
Bleary and groggy-eyed, I sleepwalked through my day. After work, I went to see the director to verify my last day; there had been some confusion as to when exactly it was. This was at 9 p.m. We hashed out my date to July 12, and then she said something that really made my day.
"By the way, I know you are only her one more week, but I need to tell you we got a parent complaint."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Four students want to drop your class."
"Is it my GT4B5-1 class, by any chance?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess."
"Well, we at POLY backed you up; I told the parents you had an MA in English."
(Not sure what that had to do with anything, but ok...)
"What was the problem?"
"You know, Rebecca, teenage girls are very sensitive. I have a daughter, and she is very sensitive also, and we need to be gentle with them."
(Where is this going? I wondered.)
"This student says that you are 'mean' and 'hysterical.'"
"I don't see how that can be; I never yell or degrade the students...Ah, this student isn't L___, is it?"
"Well, yes."
"Did she also tell you I gave her a discipline note for drawing on the desk, talking back, and throwing things at other students?"
The director then began to lecture me on the fact that I gave three VERBAL warnings rather than put the student's name on the board. I also told her that I DID lose my temper after the SECOND time a student brought out a squirt gun and shot it off in class. I did not, as she pointed out, follow proper procedure then, either, as I believe that qualifies as a three-strikes-your-out offense. I have also confiscated BB guns on other occasions. This same director, btw, has sent new teachers to observe me because I have "excellent classroom management skills."
As I was leaving in a week, I decided to put it behind me and chalk it up to one more "weird thing that Koreans do." But fate was not so kind as to let me forget that easily.
At 9:30, well past my leaving time, I went downstairs to get money from the ATM. I needed 100,000 Won to pay the landlady my maintinence fee and to have money for the weekend. I punched in my number, checked my balance, and then hit the "Withdrawal" key. The machine hummed and whistled, as it usually does, and counted out my bills. There is a compartment where the bills are counted into, wherupon a door opens and you take your cash out of a deep box. The door opened about a centimeter...and the computer crashed, capturing both my money and my bank card in the machine.
"Arrrrgh..." I screeched. I looked around helplessly. I must have stood there like a dummy for about five minutes.
The building security guard came back from his rounds, and saw me. We are on very friendly terms in spite of the fact that he doesn't speak a word of English; I always greet him in the afternoon in Korean and bow slightly (as he is an older gentleman). He came over to see what was wrong, and in an elaborate pantomime, I managed to convey what had happened. He laughed delightedly at my enactment, as I included sound effects (the ATMs in Korea have beeps and whistles to tell you where you are in the cycle) and ended with a dramatic KABOOM and pointed to the computer screen. He understood the KABOOM, and called the bank security.
The bank security guard came after about 15 minutes, and took the whole machine apart. He was able to retrieve my card, but he was not able to get my money. I tried to convey that I wanted some assurance that the money would be redistributed to my account, but there my Korean ran out. The two men then got into a loud, and completely incomprehensible arguement about what the proper procedure was (I assume). I kept trying to pantomime "receipt" and said the word repeatedly, but no one was listening to me. When Koreans get excited, they gesticulate wildly just like the Italians, except in even less personal space. So, with arms and spittle flying, I dodged and brought out my only weapon, my "handu phone."
I began to call every Korean friend I had, and NOT ONE answered their cell phone. Finally, in defeat, I dialed the one number I had left in my arsenal - the director who had just yelled at me. I knew she was working late, and she did answer her phone. After a few minutes, she came down, and got it sorted out. Heaping coals on my head, she even lended me 20,000 Won after she found out I only had 7,000 Won in ready cash. The money was to be transferred by the end of the next business day. And it was.
As soon as I got it straightened out, I limped home (my ankle was swollen from a slight accident I had). As I went out the door, I received a text message from one of my Korean friends, who asked what the problem was. He then called me, and laughed with me at my loony situation.
"By the way, " I asked, "Just for future reference, what is the Korean word for 'receipt'?"
"'Re-si-tuh.'"
I was penniless when I came here, and now I am jobless as well. I have had no luck on my university job hunt. Sigh. Maybe it is time to flip some burgers....But maybe I am too cocky; maybe working an extra three years to get an MA was not worth it in the end. Maybe it IS just a piece of paper with no meaning behind it. I love literature, and I love the English language. Maybe there is no room for it in this world.
This is my blessing and my curse. I am an academic at heart, an academic who dearly loves teaching AND research. I need the university environment to thrive. This hit me as I began devising Plan B, returning to school for my CELTA certification. It is true that teachers are lifelong learners. I revel in seemingly useless details. I just finished a unit with my second graders on plant reproduction, an area I had never given much thought to (as most of us don't). I learned how a plant makes seeds and how to label their reproductive organs because I had to teach it. You learn in order to teach.
From my students, I have learned a great deal of Korean history and folklore. If asked an essay question on the March 3 Movement in Korea, I could give reasonably accurate details about the Protestant clergymen and students who marched to Topgol Square and declared their independence from Japan in 1911 (causing a bloody massacre). Why does this matter? It doesn't to us; we barely talk about the Korean War (30 years later) in U.S. history class. I didn't even know there WAS a Korean War until I went to college. I have gained a wide-world view from my life here; what happens on a tiny, isolated penninsula has world-wide impact on so-called democracy. Note the current thunderings from "the North."
I have digressed quite a bit from my original intentions, so, without further ado and on a lighter note....
MAN VERSUS MACHINE
I seldom get in trouble at work, but when I do, it is usually a big thing.
On Wednesday, I had a particularly rotten day. I had only one hour of sleep due to a foul, mysterious odor in my apartment. I had noticed it earlier in the week, but no amount of searching could find the source. It smelled peculiarly of "dead mouse;" I know this because while I was in high school, a mouse (caught in a trap) fell from the attic into the wall space of the spare bedroom, whereupon it died and rotted all winter. Well, this night the aroma was especially bad. I traced the source to under my air conditioner (which is directly above my bed) and found the odor to be overpoweringly strong. I stood on my bed and peered up. The entire inside of my A/C was coated in mold, and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to sleep, but to no avail.
Bleary and groggy-eyed, I sleepwalked through my day. After work, I went to see the director to verify my last day; there had been some confusion as to when exactly it was. This was at 9 p.m. We hashed out my date to July 12, and then she said something that really made my day.
"By the way, I know you are only her one more week, but I need to tell you we got a parent complaint."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Four students want to drop your class."
"Is it my GT4B5-1 class, by any chance?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess."
"Well, we at POLY backed you up; I told the parents you had an MA in English."
(Not sure what that had to do with anything, but ok...)
"What was the problem?"
"You know, Rebecca, teenage girls are very sensitive. I have a daughter, and she is very sensitive also, and we need to be gentle with them."
(Where is this going? I wondered.)
"This student says that you are 'mean' and 'hysterical.'"
"I don't see how that can be; I never yell or degrade the students...Ah, this student isn't L___, is it?"
"Well, yes."
"Did she also tell you I gave her a discipline note for drawing on the desk, talking back, and throwing things at other students?"
The director then began to lecture me on the fact that I gave three VERBAL warnings rather than put the student's name on the board. I also told her that I DID lose my temper after the SECOND time a student brought out a squirt gun and shot it off in class. I did not, as she pointed out, follow proper procedure then, either, as I believe that qualifies as a three-strikes-your-out offense. I have also confiscated BB guns on other occasions. This same director, btw, has sent new teachers to observe me because I have "excellent classroom management skills."
As I was leaving in a week, I decided to put it behind me and chalk it up to one more "weird thing that Koreans do." But fate was not so kind as to let me forget that easily.
At 9:30, well past my leaving time, I went downstairs to get money from the ATM. I needed 100,000 Won to pay the landlady my maintinence fee and to have money for the weekend. I punched in my number, checked my balance, and then hit the "Withdrawal" key. The machine hummed and whistled, as it usually does, and counted out my bills. There is a compartment where the bills are counted into, wherupon a door opens and you take your cash out of a deep box. The door opened about a centimeter...and the computer crashed, capturing both my money and my bank card in the machine.
"Arrrrgh..." I screeched. I looked around helplessly. I must have stood there like a dummy for about five minutes.
The building security guard came back from his rounds, and saw me. We are on very friendly terms in spite of the fact that he doesn't speak a word of English; I always greet him in the afternoon in Korean and bow slightly (as he is an older gentleman). He came over to see what was wrong, and in an elaborate pantomime, I managed to convey what had happened. He laughed delightedly at my enactment, as I included sound effects (the ATMs in Korea have beeps and whistles to tell you where you are in the cycle) and ended with a dramatic KABOOM and pointed to the computer screen. He understood the KABOOM, and called the bank security.
The bank security guard came after about 15 minutes, and took the whole machine apart. He was able to retrieve my card, but he was not able to get my money. I tried to convey that I wanted some assurance that the money would be redistributed to my account, but there my Korean ran out. The two men then got into a loud, and completely incomprehensible arguement about what the proper procedure was (I assume). I kept trying to pantomime "receipt" and said the word repeatedly, but no one was listening to me. When Koreans get excited, they gesticulate wildly just like the Italians, except in even less personal space. So, with arms and spittle flying, I dodged and brought out my only weapon, my "handu phone."
I began to call every Korean friend I had, and NOT ONE answered their cell phone. Finally, in defeat, I dialed the one number I had left in my arsenal - the director who had just yelled at me. I knew she was working late, and she did answer her phone. After a few minutes, she came down, and got it sorted out. Heaping coals on my head, she even lended me 20,000 Won after she found out I only had 7,000 Won in ready cash. The money was to be transferred by the end of the next business day. And it was.
As soon as I got it straightened out, I limped home (my ankle was swollen from a slight accident I had). As I went out the door, I received a text message from one of my Korean friends, who asked what the problem was. He then called me, and laughed with me at my loony situation.
"By the way, " I asked, "Just for future reference, what is the Korean word for 'receipt'?"
"'Re-si-tuh.'"
Thursday, June 22, 2006
PHOTO: Public Health Campaign or Advertising Capmpaign? You Decide...
A Merchandising Empire Begins Below the Belt 
The True Meaning of World "Cup"
A Real Red Devil
The True Meaning of World "Cup"
A Real Red Devil
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
JOURNAL: "Daehanminguk!" Aarghhhh!
I apologize in advance to my anxious readers. I am not dead, ill, or in a psychiatric ward somewhere...I have just been ridiculously busy. I am job-hunting in Korea; not an easy thing to do unless you want to work at a hogwon again. My time at POLY has been good, and I am not complaining much. I would probably have re-signed if a) I got more than ten days vacation and whenever I wanted it and b) it was in my best career interest. Instead, I am lookng for a solid "uni"(versity) job that pays the bills. This has been an enormous challenge, as well as nerve-wracking, paper-work intensive (no thanks to immigration), and downright annoying.
What is the problem? You may ask. After all, I have an MA in English, a BA in Theatre Arts, five years of teaching experience, and excellent references. I also meet the requisite blonde, blue-eyed, and youthful female. All I can figure out is that it is a highly competitive market out there. If "Dave's ESL Cafe" is anything to judge by, many people are tired of hogwons ripping them off. Some BAs DO get uni positions, which is why I can't figure out why I have gotten only two interviews lined up. I had to turn down the first job because it paid by the hour; I need a guaranteed salary. The second interview is by proxy as it is in Ulsan, the rough equivalent of Lansing, MI. This job I am extremely ambivalent about. If anyone out there knows of a university out there that wants to hire someone who is actually QUALIFIED to teach college-level English (and Theatre), please let me know!
But enough about work woes.
"Daehanminguk!" (clapclapclapclap CLAP CLAP) The battle cry rings out well into the night, and World Cup fever has swept the land. For those of us who cannot afford to fly to Germany, the city government of Seoul has helpfully set up giant screens at all the major stadiums, parks, and City Hall. In America, this would be courting disaster. In Seoul, this is courting large crowds. Are they drunk? Undoubtedly. Are they loud? Naturally. Are they rowdy? Well, not really.
Last Tuesday after work, I called my friend, who had gone down to check out the set-up at City Hall. Laura, who is Korean, said it was too crowded. Now, when a Seoulite says it is too crowded, IT IS TOO CROWDED. She was on her way back, so I called some of my coworkers who were at Olympic Park. They also said it was too crowded. Even so, after consulting Laura, we decided to brave the crowd at Olympic Park. We came in the back way, which turned out to be a brilliant move. The back way led us right to the front (logically), and we could see the screen perfectly from the sidelines.
A sea of red t-shirts, glowing devil horns (Red Devils), and interesting fashion statements was before us. To my surprise, most of the fans stayed seated. There was a current of anticipation running through the crowd, but it was decorously subdued most of the time. Don't get me wrong, when something exciting happened, people leapt to their feet and cheered, but the rest of the time they stayed seated. Being up front did have its downfall however; whenever Korea scored, the pyrotechnics went off right over our heads, and the ashes raineth down from the heavens.
I wore the requisite "Corea" T-shirt with a bandana scrawled with the excellent Konglish phrase "We are the twelfth!" Like many Waygooks, I though they were bragging about being twelfth in the divison; I late found out that it meant they were the twelfth member of the soccer team. I could not puzzle out the odd spelling of "Corea" I saw everywhere. All the Americans agree that it looks rather wimpy with a "C." I later found out why the spelling was changed from a random 3rd grader.
As many people know, Korea and Japan do not have a cozy history. Domination, forced prostution, murder, mayhem...Japan in general did not endear itself to many nations in the early 20th century. Japan has yet to formally apologize to Korea for what it did to them; this is not the issue. Apparently, during some sports talk, a Japanese sports figure sneered at the Korea team, saying that "J" will always come before "K." In response, a patriotic group of Koreans decided, "Fine. We will spell our name with a 'C'." Thus a new merchandising empire was born. I am reminded of the much older, but still violence-prone, Scottish-English team rivalries. They like to throw broken beer bottles at each other when there is a big game between the two; this apparently somehow stemmed out of England's massacre and take-over of Scotland in 1745. Old wounds leave scars.
Korea-style, the World Cup merchandising empire has, as usual, gone too far. Bandannas, devil horns, socks, t-shirts, even temporary tattoos sport "Support Corea" logos. I was not, however, prepared for the condoms. They all say "Open for Safety" at the bottom, and have the happy soccer balls of this year's World Cup logo stamped all over the package. One of the soccer balls has Korean War paint on his cheeks, and says, "Let's protect ourselves!" The list of strange Konglish phrases goes on and on.
On Monday morning, after a rough night, I finally fell asleep at about 3:00 a.m. At around 5:30 a.m., I was rudely awakened by screaming girl-elephants herding across my ceiling, as well as a general uproar on the city streets outside my window.
Korea had scored.
"Daehanminguk" go bragh.
What is the problem? You may ask. After all, I have an MA in English, a BA in Theatre Arts, five years of teaching experience, and excellent references. I also meet the requisite blonde, blue-eyed, and youthful female. All I can figure out is that it is a highly competitive market out there. If "Dave's ESL Cafe" is anything to judge by, many people are tired of hogwons ripping them off. Some BAs DO get uni positions, which is why I can't figure out why I have gotten only two interviews lined up. I had to turn down the first job because it paid by the hour; I need a guaranteed salary. The second interview is by proxy as it is in Ulsan, the rough equivalent of Lansing, MI. This job I am extremely ambivalent about. If anyone out there knows of a university out there that wants to hire someone who is actually QUALIFIED to teach college-level English (and Theatre), please let me know!
But enough about work woes.
"Daehanminguk!" (clapclapclapclap CLAP CLAP) The battle cry rings out well into the night, and World Cup fever has swept the land. For those of us who cannot afford to fly to Germany, the city government of Seoul has helpfully set up giant screens at all the major stadiums, parks, and City Hall. In America, this would be courting disaster. In Seoul, this is courting large crowds. Are they drunk? Undoubtedly. Are they loud? Naturally. Are they rowdy? Well, not really.
Last Tuesday after work, I called my friend, who had gone down to check out the set-up at City Hall. Laura, who is Korean, said it was too crowded. Now, when a Seoulite says it is too crowded, IT IS TOO CROWDED. She was on her way back, so I called some of my coworkers who were at Olympic Park. They also said it was too crowded. Even so, after consulting Laura, we decided to brave the crowd at Olympic Park. We came in the back way, which turned out to be a brilliant move. The back way led us right to the front (logically), and we could see the screen perfectly from the sidelines.
A sea of red t-shirts, glowing devil horns (Red Devils), and interesting fashion statements was before us. To my surprise, most of the fans stayed seated. There was a current of anticipation running through the crowd, but it was decorously subdued most of the time. Don't get me wrong, when something exciting happened, people leapt to their feet and cheered, but the rest of the time they stayed seated. Being up front did have its downfall however; whenever Korea scored, the pyrotechnics went off right over our heads, and the ashes raineth down from the heavens.
I wore the requisite "Corea" T-shirt with a bandana scrawled with the excellent Konglish phrase "We are the twelfth!" Like many Waygooks, I though they were bragging about being twelfth in the divison; I late found out that it meant they were the twelfth member of the soccer team. I could not puzzle out the odd spelling of "Corea" I saw everywhere. All the Americans agree that it looks rather wimpy with a "C." I later found out why the spelling was changed from a random 3rd grader.
As many people know, Korea and Japan do not have a cozy history. Domination, forced prostution, murder, mayhem...Japan in general did not endear itself to many nations in the early 20th century. Japan has yet to formally apologize to Korea for what it did to them; this is not the issue. Apparently, during some sports talk, a Japanese sports figure sneered at the Korea team, saying that "J" will always come before "K." In response, a patriotic group of Koreans decided, "Fine. We will spell our name with a 'C'." Thus a new merchandising empire was born. I am reminded of the much older, but still violence-prone, Scottish-English team rivalries. They like to throw broken beer bottles at each other when there is a big game between the two; this apparently somehow stemmed out of England's massacre and take-over of Scotland in 1745. Old wounds leave scars.
Korea-style, the World Cup merchandising empire has, as usual, gone too far. Bandannas, devil horns, socks, t-shirts, even temporary tattoos sport "Support Corea" logos. I was not, however, prepared for the condoms. They all say "Open for Safety" at the bottom, and have the happy soccer balls of this year's World Cup logo stamped all over the package. One of the soccer balls has Korean War paint on his cheeks, and says, "Let's protect ourselves!" The list of strange Konglish phrases goes on and on.
On Monday morning, after a rough night, I finally fell asleep at about 3:00 a.m. At around 5:30 a.m., I was rudely awakened by screaming girl-elephants herding across my ceiling, as well as a general uproar on the city streets outside my window.
Korea had scored.
"Daehanminguk" go bragh.
Friday, June 02, 2006
NOTE: More Traffic
I have now gone "public" with my blog. Below is posted a link to "The Korea Blog List" if you are interested in other people's adventures in Korea. My traffic will hopefully increase, and it gives me incentive to go back and edit all my typos out...
http://www.korea.banoffeepie.com
http://www.korea.banoffeepie.com
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
JOURNAL: Spring Fever and Bad English
Last Tuesday, in my advanced middle school class, we were doing a listening and speaking excersise on employers monitoring their employees in the work place. My kids being the way they are, they helpfully pointed out the "class cams," claiming it "violated their privacy." One of the girls innocently said that the people who watch the children in the POLY classrooms really just sit back and "play with themselves." But back to my point.
The listening series we use employs actual radio broadcasts, usually from NPR, so they do spark some interesting debates. There is a reading section to go along with the listening section; in this week's reading selection, the journalist used the "Xerox scandal" as an example of how employers monitor employees, stating that 40 Xerox employees were fired after downloading pornography onto their work computers. The boy reading the article did a double-take, and I said,"Ah, Sean, you know what 'pornography' is?"
Without thinking, he answered, "Oh yes, I know very well what it is," then turned an interesting shade of pomegranate. Fortunately, only a few of the boys caught it (the girls looked puzzled).
One of the ways in which employees are being monitored, according the the article, is through cameras in the bathroom and other "private areas" (direct quote). The girls were horrified by this, even when I mentioned that it was done to prevent stealing and drug-dealing. (Connecticut is the only state that has banned this practice, btw.)
During group discussion, one of the other boys caused some more snickering, and even "teacher" nearly lost it. We were discussing alternative ways to monitor employees, ways that don't interfere with privacy overmuch. Only one boy defended the practice of bathroom cams, but his reason was, "If they put a camera in the bathroom, they can catch people performing immoral acts."
I only lost my composure for a moment; Sean was not so lucky. I backed the mildly embarassed boy up, "Such as..?" and he went on to talk about the stealing and drug dealing that goes on it the bathroom. He also advocated a "one person at a time" bathroom policy, but that didn't fly well with the class.
On another middle school note, my co-worker assigned her class to come up with a list of ten items each student would want to have if they were trapped on a desert island; they are reading LORD OF THE FLIES. Harry's number one answer? GIRLS!
The listening series we use employs actual radio broadcasts, usually from NPR, so they do spark some interesting debates. There is a reading section to go along with the listening section; in this week's reading selection, the journalist used the "Xerox scandal" as an example of how employers monitor employees, stating that 40 Xerox employees were fired after downloading pornography onto their work computers. The boy reading the article did a double-take, and I said,"Ah, Sean, you know what 'pornography' is?"
Without thinking, he answered, "Oh yes, I know very well what it is," then turned an interesting shade of pomegranate. Fortunately, only a few of the boys caught it (the girls looked puzzled).
One of the ways in which employees are being monitored, according the the article, is through cameras in the bathroom and other "private areas" (direct quote). The girls were horrified by this, even when I mentioned that it was done to prevent stealing and drug-dealing. (Connecticut is the only state that has banned this practice, btw.)
During group discussion, one of the other boys caused some more snickering, and even "teacher" nearly lost it. We were discussing alternative ways to monitor employees, ways that don't interfere with privacy overmuch. Only one boy defended the practice of bathroom cams, but his reason was, "If they put a camera in the bathroom, they can catch people performing immoral acts."
I only lost my composure for a moment; Sean was not so lucky. I backed the mildly embarassed boy up, "Such as..?" and he went on to talk about the stealing and drug dealing that goes on it the bathroom. He also advocated a "one person at a time" bathroom policy, but that didn't fly well with the class.
On another middle school note, my co-worker assigned her class to come up with a list of ten items each student would want to have if they were trapped on a desert island; they are reading LORD OF THE FLIES. Harry's number one answer? GIRLS!
Monday, May 29, 2006
Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part II
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the camera man on top for a sense of scale.
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the cameraman on top for a sense of scale.
As I strolled along the park, a couple of middle-aged ladies approached me and asked if they could walk with me for a pace. This is quite common in Korea – if you look white, people want to practice their English on you. I usually comply with such requests, and this was no exception. The ladies explained that they were “volunteers,” and appeared to be associated with the park. Many park docents are, in fact, unpaid volunteers. We chit-chatted about this and that and they inevitably asked about my religion. The town was full of people who were in town to celebrate Buddha’s birthday; in fact there was a temple across the street from the park. Gyeongju is the center of Korean Buddhism, so this question did not seem too odd to me. Not wanting to be mistaken for the weird hippie-type Westerner, I gently explained I was a Christian, not a Buddhist. This seemed to impress them, and the subject was dropped. We stopped to take a picture, and then I began to go on my way. Before I left, we exchanged information - again, a politeness in Korea. It is very rude to refuse contact information. Then the bomb dropped, “I would like you to read this magazine and tell me what you think about it. I will contact you later on this week."
They were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I have got to give them credit. I am so used to acting “Korean polite” that I didn’t see it coming. Not only this, but they did it virtually on the doorstep of a Buddhist temple. That takes some guts, and I admire that. One of the ladies did contact me, but I did not respond.
I continued on towards the center of the park, and promptly ran into a gaggle of young children, shepherded by their weary teachers. Each group was neatly “color-coded” by uniform - a handy thing when you are responsible for 40 children in your group! The colors also appeared to correspond somewhat to age group – yellow and orange for preschool/kindergarten, pink for 3rd grade, etc. The children were relatively quiet until a silent signal was released from the teachers. Then, the children began doing what children do - run around like lunatics. I walked near the older group for a bit, and one of the male teachers spoke surprisingly good English. He was very interested in conversing further, but his duties interfered.
I went towards the bathroom, and groaned as I saw a line of children in front of me. The children got very excited when they saw me, and began babbling at me in Korean. The female teacher in charge tentatively approached me, and asked if I would pose for a picture. The noisy tots (about 5-6 years old) gathered around me eagerly, and I made bunny ears over their dark little heads as the camera flashed. Then they babbled at me some more, “hello, thank you, hi” being the extent of their English. One of the more silent ones looked up at me in wonder, and exclaimed “Ajuma!” (Wow, you look like middle-aged!) I looked down at him and said, equally seriously,
“Ajuma?! Anio!” (Old woman? Nooo!)
The crowd rippled with excitement.
“Hangul?” “Hangul!” (She speaks Korean! Woah!)
Great fun.
nbsp;
I soon left, and headed out of the gate on the other side of the park. I wandered down the village streets for awhile, trying to get my bearings. As I went down the main drag, someone frantically called out to me, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I turned around, and saw a well dressed middle-aged woman in heels chasing me down. Out of breath, she panted, ”May I talk with you?”
Oh great. Another one.
She then explained, “I came into town with my husband on business. We just finished lunch, and he just... dropped me off here. Can I talk to you and walk with you for awhile? I don’t know what to do until my husband picks me up…I think I will be bored…”
Korean women, especially of a certain class, do not know how to travel alone. As we were in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much of a town, I took pity on her, and allowed her to join me. “Pearl” turned out to be a good companion; she even insisted on paying my way a bit. In America, I would be suspicious, but there was something about her that spoke of a fragile honesty.
Pearl often traveled with her husband, but he had a tendency to drop her off in random places (“Have a good time, dear!”). In a country where no one even goes to the bathroom alone (even sharing bathroom stalls), this is a scary thing. As we chatted, I got to know a bit more about her life. She had a teenage son studying at boarding school in Australia, and a 14 year old at home (who kept calling her). She “helped her husband” with his business, but I took this to be code-word for “housewife.”
We went across a field to the Cheomseongdae Observatory, one of the oldest of its kind still standing in Asia. There we met one of the volunteer guides, a man who said everyone called him “Grandpa Choi.” He clearly enjoyed his “job,” giving lengthy details about the mathematical reasoning behind the stone structure. It was a clever system of season, day, and cycle counting, a system I couldn’t even begin to relate. The structure did survive several massive earthquakes, establishing Korea’s reputation at the time for brick-making. Even now, the masonry has held up amazingly well; not a stone was missing or out of place:
After we left, we crossed the street to a bakery that served Gyeongju’s specialty, a sort of barley-bread sandwich stuffed with red bean paste. It was tasty, but not spectacular.
We then boarded a bus to go up to Bulgaksa Temple, a UNESCO World-Heritage sight. As it was Buddha’s birthday, the temple was lavishly decorated with paper lanterns and lotus flowers:
This ancient pagoda is featured on the back of the "10 Won" piece (about ten cents):
I was especially intrigued by the “mini-pagodas,” which serve as wishes or prayers. These piles of rocks are man-made, and have deep symbolism for Buddhists:
A very resourceful individual used a convenient tree to build a taller pagoda:
Tree Pagoda
Even the god of music looks like someone you would not like to cross:
We were not allowed to take photos inside the temples, so I did not get any shots of the Buddhas here.
Pearl’s husband finally called wondering where she was. I didn’t understand the cell phone conversation of course, but the tone of voice sounded like this:
Husband: You are WHERE?! Up the mountain at a temple?! (She was Christian)
Wife: You think I was going to wait around for you all day?
Husband: (Sigh) All right, I will come get you.
As we waited, we stopped at a food stall. Pearl then proceeded to buy what can only be described as a Korean delicacy – cooked silkworm larvae. I have never actually seen people buy these things, let alone eat them, although they are readily available in any street market. My students either absolutely love them, or think they are gross (“Ewww, fried worms!”) They smell like burning tires, and look like, well, cooked larvae. Apparently you spear the suckers with a toothpick; a young couple was lovingly spooning them into each others’ mouths at the bus stop…I tried to get up the courage to ask if I could try one, but Pearl’s husband came with the car.
I took the bus down the mountain, then stopped at a GS (convenience store) for dinner. The restaurants were just too crowded, and I was too tired to figure out the menus (in Korean). I bought some lunch meat, but had to eat it with no bread. I also purchased some nuts, a snack or two, and water. I went back to my hotel room, and curled up with THE DA VINCI CODE.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the camera man on top for a sense of scale.
I slept in the next morning, then hied myself down to a local coffee shop for breakfast. I spread out my map, and I decided to go to Tumuli Park. The park is a massive burial area for the kings and the queens of the Shilla Dynasty (the “Ming” dynasty of Korea). At the same time Gaul was being conquered, the Shilla were in power. No Stone Age people, these craftsmen had superb skills in stone carving, weaving, and metal works. The Mongolians feared them, which says quite a bit.
The “Tumuli” are the burial mounds; these are not mounds in the sense of mass graves, but are in fact rather complex underground structures, much like the pyramids of Egypt. The structures were built with wooden chambers inside, where the king or queen was buried with their clothes and crown ON TOP of their coffins. Like the Egyptians, the Shilla left things around for assistance in the afterlife. The tumuli was then covered with earth and grass, forming an enormous mound, like these:
Note the cameraman on top for a sense of scale.
As I strolled along the park, a couple of middle-aged ladies approached me and asked if they could walk with me for a pace. This is quite common in Korea – if you look white, people want to practice their English on you. I usually comply with such requests, and this was no exception. The ladies explained that they were “volunteers,” and appeared to be associated with the park. Many park docents are, in fact, unpaid volunteers. We chit-chatted about this and that and they inevitably asked about my religion. The town was full of people who were in town to celebrate Buddha’s birthday; in fact there was a temple across the street from the park. Gyeongju is the center of Korean Buddhism, so this question did not seem too odd to me. Not wanting to be mistaken for the weird hippie-type Westerner, I gently explained I was a Christian, not a Buddhist. This seemed to impress them, and the subject was dropped. We stopped to take a picture, and then I began to go on my way. Before I left, we exchanged information - again, a politeness in Korea. It is very rude to refuse contact information. Then the bomb dropped, “I would like you to read this magazine and tell me what you think about it. I will contact you later on this week."
They were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I have got to give them credit. I am so used to acting “Korean polite” that I didn’t see it coming. Not only this, but they did it virtually on the doorstep of a Buddhist temple. That takes some guts, and I admire that. One of the ladies did contact me, but I did not respond.
I continued on towards the center of the park, and promptly ran into a gaggle of young children, shepherded by their weary teachers. Each group was neatly “color-coded” by uniform - a handy thing when you are responsible for 40 children in your group! The colors also appeared to correspond somewhat to age group – yellow and orange for preschool/kindergarten, pink for 3rd grade, etc. The children were relatively quiet until a silent signal was released from the teachers. Then, the children began doing what children do - run around like lunatics. I walked near the older group for a bit, and one of the male teachers spoke surprisingly good English. He was very interested in conversing further, but his duties interfered.
I went towards the bathroom, and groaned as I saw a line of children in front of me. The children got very excited when they saw me, and began babbling at me in Korean. The female teacher in charge tentatively approached me, and asked if I would pose for a picture. The noisy tots (about 5-6 years old) gathered around me eagerly, and I made bunny ears over their dark little heads as the camera flashed. Then they babbled at me some more, “hello, thank you, hi” being the extent of their English. One of the more silent ones looked up at me in wonder, and exclaimed “Ajuma!” (Wow, you look like middle-aged!) I looked down at him and said, equally seriously,
“Ajuma?! Anio!” (Old woman? Nooo!)
The crowd rippled with excitement.
“Hangul?” “Hangul!” (She speaks Korean! Woah!)
Great fun.
nbsp;
I soon left, and headed out of the gate on the other side of the park. I wandered down the village streets for awhile, trying to get my bearings. As I went down the main drag, someone frantically called out to me, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” I turned around, and saw a well dressed middle-aged woman in heels chasing me down. Out of breath, she panted, ”May I talk with you?”
Oh great. Another one.
She then explained, “I came into town with my husband on business. We just finished lunch, and he just... dropped me off here. Can I talk to you and walk with you for awhile? I don’t know what to do until my husband picks me up…I think I will be bored…”
Korean women, especially of a certain class, do not know how to travel alone. As we were in the middle of nowhere, and there isn’t much of a town, I took pity on her, and allowed her to join me. “Pearl” turned out to be a good companion; she even insisted on paying my way a bit. In America, I would be suspicious, but there was something about her that spoke of a fragile honesty.
Pearl often traveled with her husband, but he had a tendency to drop her off in random places (“Have a good time, dear!”). In a country where no one even goes to the bathroom alone (even sharing bathroom stalls), this is a scary thing. As we chatted, I got to know a bit more about her life. She had a teenage son studying at boarding school in Australia, and a 14 year old at home (who kept calling her). She “helped her husband” with his business, but I took this to be code-word for “housewife.”
We went across a field to the Cheomseongdae Observatory, one of the oldest of its kind still standing in Asia. There we met one of the volunteer guides, a man who said everyone called him “Grandpa Choi.” He clearly enjoyed his “job,” giving lengthy details about the mathematical reasoning behind the stone structure. It was a clever system of season, day, and cycle counting, a system I couldn’t even begin to relate. The structure did survive several massive earthquakes, establishing Korea’s reputation at the time for brick-making. Even now, the masonry has held up amazingly well; not a stone was missing or out of place:
After we left, we crossed the street to a bakery that served Gyeongju’s specialty, a sort of barley-bread sandwich stuffed with red bean paste. It was tasty, but not spectacular.
We then boarded a bus to go up to Bulgaksa Temple, a UNESCO World-Heritage sight. As it was Buddha’s birthday, the temple was lavishly decorated with paper lanterns and lotus flowers:
This ancient pagoda is featured on the back of the "10 Won" piece (about ten cents):
I was especially intrigued by the “mini-pagodas,” which serve as wishes or prayers. These piles of rocks are man-made, and have deep symbolism for Buddhists:
A very resourceful individual used a convenient tree to build a taller pagoda:
Tree Pagoda
Even the god of music looks like someone you would not like to cross:
We were not allowed to take photos inside the temples, so I did not get any shots of the Buddhas here.
Pearl’s husband finally called wondering where she was. I didn’t understand the cell phone conversation of course, but the tone of voice sounded like this:
Husband: You are WHERE?! Up the mountain at a temple?! (She was Christian)
Wife: You think I was going to wait around for you all day?
Husband: (Sigh) All right, I will come get you.
As we waited, we stopped at a food stall. Pearl then proceeded to buy what can only be described as a Korean delicacy – cooked silkworm larvae. I have never actually seen people buy these things, let alone eat them, although they are readily available in any street market. My students either absolutely love them, or think they are gross (“Ewww, fried worms!”) They smell like burning tires, and look like, well, cooked larvae. Apparently you spear the suckers with a toothpick; a young couple was lovingly spooning them into each others’ mouths at the bus stop…I tried to get up the courage to ask if I could try one, but Pearl’s husband came with the car.
I took the bus down the mountain, then stopped at a GS (convenience store) for dinner. The restaurants were just too crowded, and I was too tired to figure out the menus (in Korean). I bought some lunch meat, but had to eat it with no bread. I also purchased some nuts, a snack or two, and water. I went back to my hotel room, and curled up with THE DA VINCI CODE.
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