Ecclectic Seoul

The End of an Era

2008-02-19T07:46:00.002+08:00

Dear Readers,

I am now back in the United States, and will be discontinuing my blog, at least for awhile. I became critically ill in South Korea and had to return to the United States due to medical complications from my condition. It was very difficult to give up what was a very fulfilling job, a beautiful apartment, and even a new romance. We can only go where God determines we will go, however; or, as the eternal pessimist Yeats said, "things fall apart, the center cannot hold."

I will be taking the next few months to revisit my old blog and clean up some of the grammar and typos. I will be adding details along the way as I remember them. This is in preparation for publication. I have not decided whether this will be the form of a memoir or a "faction" novel. I may also try to clean up and publish some of my more interesting blogs.

I would like to know from my readers which blog entries they liked the best. My readership is not very wide, of course, but if you stumble upon my humble little blog, feel free to vote. Post your votes as comments, and I will read them.

Sincerely,

R.E.

PHOTO JOURNAL: May North Korea Trip FINAL

2007-09-25T17:52:00.000+08:00

In May of this year, I went on a three day trip to North Korea. Mt. Geumgangsan is just north of the DMZ on the East Sea (Sea of Japan) and is quite breathtaking in its own right. Although I did not see much of North Korea itself due to severe restrictions on our movements, I can say I have seen on of the natural masterpieces of the world - God in one of his melodramatic moments, if you will.

We left Seoul at 11:00 pm from Hongdae, picking up other groups of people on the way. There were approximately 80 people on the tour, all of us with Western country passports except the driver and the tour guides. I knew a few people on the tour, though not very well. Adventure Korea does not require you to come with a "buddy," and solo travellers are quite common. I shared a hotel room with a very nice African-American girl from New York state (whose name escapes me).

The bus ride was long and tedious, as most bus trips are, so I passed the time speaking with Phil, a Welshman I had met by chance at a mutual friend's birthday party some time ago. We had hit it off during the party... until he made an indecent (and drunken) proposal later in the evening. I had completely forgotten about him until we ran into each other on the tour. He turned out to be a very nice person, if a bit confused about the direction his life was going. Actually, this is true of most foreigners (myself included) one meets in Korea! But I digress...

We arrived at 4 a.m. at the "Asian Rest Area" (where do the rest of us...er...rest?) by Donhae Freeway Gate; this is the purported main supply route between North and South Korea, though it is not currently in use. We then stood in line to get our tickets for the tour, our visas, and our bus assignments. We were each given a specific number and were told to memorize the information on our name tags, whether it was spelled correctly or not! This was a vital step, because the information could be asked at anytime by the North Korean Military Personnel. If we got the information wrong, we could be fined and/or deported. We were then told to go to our new buses, taking our belongings with us. The buses were equipped with special flags designating "tourists coming!"
We drove for about 15 minutes, then arrived at the DMZ. The large, modern, and spacious building screamed "TOURISM!" at the top of its iron lungs; most of us were too tired to explore further than the restrooms, however. There seemed to be quite a bit of wasted space, and I am guessing this building is just for "show." After quite a long wait, the South Korean Military personnel began processing us. Our passports were stamped with an official "departure" seal, which read "Mt. Geumgangsan Tourist" at the bottom. We then reembarked on our buses, and headed through the DMZ.

The DMZ, as has been noted on many tourist sites, is by its very nature a natural preserve. The no-man's land is composed of flat grasslands, wetlands, and sandstone. Moon bears have been sighted in this area, as well as a host of other species of rare animals. We were not allowed to take photos anywhere in the DMZ for security purposes. I did note that wide railroad tracks had been newly built, but they were presently empty of trains. North Korean guards stood at attention on the tracks, their beady eyes taking in the line of tourbuses, most of them full of South Korean tourists.

As we crossed into the North Korean side, the landscape dramatically changed. High and jagged peaks with black striations threatened the landscape. The hills appeared to be barren, although there were what appeared to be salt marshes along the roads. Not a single tree stood, and the landscape showed scarring from the war not yet over. The tour guide flatly stated that the bombing and fierce fighting had wiped out all the trees, and that the North Koreans left the landscape as it was rather than try to revitalize the torn up and cratered earth. Large bunkers had been built inside the hills, and in the bunkers were tanks with their guns aimed directly at the road. No, not a friendly place.

We arrived at the North Korean processing site. We were again instructed to know the information on our cards, and told not to volunteer any information or engage in conversation with any of the guards. Our cameras would be checked; our cell phones had been left behind in the original tour bus. Sometimes, apparently, they try to trick people into giving false information, and they also like to confiscate random cameras (as two members of our group found out). This was to rack up fines on the tourists, though serious offenders were subject to deportation. The North Korean processing site, unlike the South Korean site, was definately military. A series of ragged army tents served as the center, contrasting strongly with the "Pangapsumnida!" theme song playing over the loudspeakers (which would drive us all loopy within three days incidentally). We were informed to stand in line by the numerical order on our cards. Each person would pass through a checkpoint, where our visa would be stamped. The vias was NOT in our passport, but on a separate card. To have a North Korean visa in an American passport would not be looked upon with favor; the cards were taken away when we returned to the South Korean side. I was very calm as I went through; the officer merely looked at my documents, then at me, and sent me through without comment. I accidentally made eye contact with the guard at the exit to the tent, and I swear he almost smiled. I did not mean to do it, but the officers are very short, and at five foot two, looking forward to me was looking into his eyes. I did note that their uniforms, though fancy and well-made, were quite old and dusty. They had been mended many times, but clearly with pride.

On the way out of the tent stood a dilapidated bear mascot. The "bear" was very short, and appeared to be weary with his duties. He halfheartedly waved at the tourists, and appeared oddly out of place inside the military tents...

We boarded the bus, and crossed the border into North Korea. We passed several propoganda villages along the way. The village scenes had a curiously staged feel to them; people passed on bicycles, but never seemed to arrive anywhere. Strollers along the pathways kept pace with each other, and once again, had no seeming direction or destination. Workers in the field wore brightly covered clothing and industriously avoided staring at the line of 30 tourbuses passing by. A picturesque group of serfs on their lunch break precariously balanced themselves and their neatly packed meals on a rock in the center of a field. Soldiers in full uniform stood guard in each field, a red flag in their hands to alert each other of any violation (tourist or serf). For us, a red flag meant a fine. For the people...who knows?

We drove for about ten minutes, and then arrived at the Onjeonggak Tourist Area. The facilities included a mini-mart, bathrooms, and several hotels. There was also a large auditorium, where the North Korean Acrobatic Show was featured. This was the area we were confined to when not hiking or with a group. Shuttle buses shunted people off to the Hot Springs or Kumgang Pension Area. We did not unload our gear at this time, but did take a rest break.
The first tour of the day included a rather strenuous hike on the Guryong Falls Course. It is supposed to take up to four hours; we only got two hours due to a slight schedule delay. I did make it to the top, but I was quite literally the last one to arrive...I guess I was a bit out of shape! It was my first hiknig trip of the season, after all. It's hard to make out, but the bottom picture has a poem to the "Great Leader" chiseled into the rock. There were many of these poems scrawled on the rocks, both in Chinese and in Korean - sort of like a personality cult "Mt. Rushmore."

After the grueling hike, we returned to the tourism zone. I chose to take the time for a nap, and we were allowed to go to our hotel rooms. After a refreshing snooze, my roommate and I headed over to view the Korean Acrobatic Show. The first acrobat was a young girl in a green costume, and I remember the look of sheer terror on her face as she was put through her paces and stunts. I am guessing that she was new, as some of her stunts were carefully supported by her male counterpart. She made a sincere effort to smile, but, her fear often showed through. The live orchestra underscored the show with what I can only describe as Russian Communist Pop from the 1970s...quite amusing. The rest of the show was well put together, if a bit surreal. Oh that music!

A sudden downpour came upon us as we left the show, so we returned to the hotel. After dinner, my roommate and I decided to visit the Hot Springs. My roommate chickened out because the Hot Springs turned out to be "naked only," but I am used to this in Korea, so it didn't bother me. I spent a leisurely amount of time soaping up, hosing off, and hunkering down in the hot and slightly sulfuric water. A group of chatty ajummas almost ruined the event for me, but the novelty of being nude, in a hot spring, under the starry skies of North soon distracted me from my annoyance!

The next morning, we took a tour of Haekumgang Seashore. The East Sea is very rocky, and the way out onto the larger rocks is treacherous. I was content to just take photos rather than climb the rocks...

Later, I took a tour of Samilpo Lake. I got some good photos of both the lake and the trail to the lake, especially the rice fields. The lake itself is unspectacular, and only of note for yet more propoganda rocks.

The people who live near the "Special Tourist Zone" are well-cared for and looked after. They are usually the high-ranking officials and families that are in good with the government. These people, at least, have enough food and gainful employment, albeit only to "look good" for foreign visitors. As wel travelled, we could see people working in the field, heavily guarded. Gasoline is hard to acquire, so we were treated to the sight of a wood-fueled tractor as it belched smoke across a grain field. The tractor, we were told, was a gift from some dignitary or other, but the fuel did not come with the machine. So the resourceful villagers adapted it.

Disturbingly, one group of workers was apparently ordered to get down low to the ground as we passed. Another group half-heartedly waved at the tourbuses, the armed guards standing behind them. Life did go on in these show villages, however. Each village had a guarded gate; no one could enter or leave without permission. Next to one of these gates was an irrigation ditch. In full view of the soldiers, a group of young boys swam around and splashed each other. The soldiers ignored them, dodging the flying water as necessary.

For exceptionally good Party members, the Kumgang Pension Town had been built. On the days we were there, it was eerily empty. A restaurant full of servers stood idle. The hotel was empty, and there were no people in the town.

We returned to the tourist area at around 3:30. I took a stroll to one of the other hotels, where I was told a huge mosaic of "the Kims" had been rendered. I was not disappointed. The bellboys were the only ones allowed to take photos, so we had to hand our cameras over to them. I did pose under the large portrait, but I will not post it here. I have posted a photo, however, of the portrait itself (not terribly straight due to the odd angle the bellboy used).

As many people did, I left North Korea with more questions than answers. Everything was like a magic show; illusion and reality were hopelessly muddled. I could only get glimpses of "real life"
by proxy. As a hiking excursion however, I would definately recommend the tour.

TEACHER'S NOTES: Sex Education in Korea- An Alarming Trend Update

2007-08-29T23:12:00.001+08:00

I keep updated on "current events" for my advanced university students, and one of the debate topics in the Korean controversy-centered book I use is obscenity/pornography laws in Korea. This was something I was not too well-versed in as it pertained to Korea when I first began to teach. I had to do quite a bit of research in order to keep up with my students, who took the topic and ran with it. Obviously, they had more access to Korean articles, and it turned out to be a more complex issue than I (and most of the students) had thought. Keep in mind that many (though certainly not all) Korean university students are a bit more "innocent" than their American counterparts. A recent article in the JoognAng Daily News, the most "liberal" newspaper in Korea, sheds some light on the issue, and exposes an alarming trend.

In my first year in Korea, I came across an article on sex-education from 2003, and found that there was very little to no sex education in the schools. According to the more recent article, nothing has changed much. Here are some highlights from the article:

A slew of sex crimes committed by teens in recent years has raised public awareness and anxiety about the quality of sex education provided by schools. Five months ago a case in Gapyeong, Gyeonggi shocked the entire country when police revealed that six middle school students had repeatedly raped a 14-year-old female classmate over a period of two months. Adding to the public’s dismay was the fact the boys showed little remorse and did not seem to understand the severity of their crimes. One boy claimed that he merely wanted to copy scenes from a pornographic film he’d seen on the Internet. In other words, many kids are now getting their sex education from triple-X porn sites rather than their parents, peers or teachers. [. . .]

According to National Police Agency data, one fourth of sex crimes involving teenage victims are perpetrated by teenagers and 13 percent of them involve preteen assailants. These numbers are much higher than in Japan and the United States, both countries that already have standardized sex education programs in their elementary, middle and high schools. According to statistics compiled by law enforcement agencies in the three countries, six out of100,000 teenagers in the United States committed rape in 2005. In Japan the figure was 1.1 out of 100,000 and in Korea it was 11.5. Korea’s incidence of teen rape is almost double that of the U.S and ten times that of Japan. Part of the problem is that Korea’s sex education programs have been stuck in the past and have not kept pace with the rapid development of Internet technology. We live in an age where adolescents are frequently exposed to sexually explicit material via the Web.

The Ministry of Education and Human Resources Development currently mandates 10 hours of sex education a year for every grade from elementary through high school. In reality, the ministry admits that in just under half of the 10,063 schools they surveyed these sessions are conducted for less than eight-hours.

“Most of the time, our gym teacher turns the sex-ed tape on and goes outside and then comes back in when the tape has ended. Meanwhile, we sit in class and make fun of the tape,” K said. This is partly due to the fact that sex education isn’t an independent subject. At present, sex ed material is loosely scattered around physical education or biology classes. In Japan, the required minimum of sex education is 70 hours per year; sex education is a separate subject. The United States has “health” classes, which include sex education, and these have been set apart as an independent subject since the start of the 20th century.

For the rest of the article: http://joongangdaily.joins.com/article/view.asp?aid=2879587

What are these crimes? Well, a later article summarizes:

A recent series of disturbing sex crimes committed by teenagers have worried and saddened many Koreans, because the rapists are shockingly young and some of the incidents took place in classrooms during school hours. These middle-school rapists showed little remorse for their acts, police and psychologist who questioned them said, with some of the young criminals viewing gang rape as part of growing up. Others, investigators say, are acting out scenes from pornographic movies they find on the Internet.

I can personally attest that even elementary students are left for long periods of time unsupervised. The Korean teachers leave the room during the ten minute breaks and go into the teacher's lounges. Many of them are themselves late coming back to class. To be fair, their is usually a class captain (responsible student), but children will be children...

The number of sexual crimes committed by teenage students has risen steadily, but an incident at a middle school in Gapyeong, Gyeonggi province, shocked the nation last month. Gapyeong police said six male students were accused of the serial rape of a female student over a two month period. The school only had 30 students in each class, and the offenders and the victim were classmates, police said. Of the six students, four were arrested for criminal investigation. According to the police, the nightmare for the 14-year-old victim began in January when one of her classmates sexually abused her. Using that incident as a point of vulnerability, the boy and his friends began raping her repeatedly. The police said the crimes all took place inside the school compound with as many as four boys raping her each time. The last episode took place on March 15. During lunch hour, three boys raped her in an empty classroom, the police said, adding that afterwards the offenders and the victim went back to class and finished the school day. The victim finally told a teacher about the abuse on March 21, and her parents were immediately notified.

The downside of group mentality is that, mixed with teenage hormones, teenagers can become a pack of wolves. In another city in the province, the girl was left unconscious, and apparently died from her injuries and/or the copious amounts of soju she was forced to drink that rendered her unconscious:

"[. . .]clearly these young boys appear to think gang rape is a new coming-of-age ceremony,” Lee Soo-jung, a criminal psychology professor with Kyonggi University, said. “When you closely follow the cases, you can see that their methods are the same. They pick one of their classmates and force her to drink soju. When she becomes unconscious, they rape her in turn,” Lee said. The pattern, Lee added, has spread among middle school boys because the teenagers “bragged about their experiences” at school and in Internet chat rooms.

For the full article: http://joongangdaily.joins.com/article/view.asp?aid=2874477

I don't honestly know quite what to make of this. I have observed Korean middle-schoolers at close range, and they appear to be (generally) even more psychologically vulnerable than their American peers. They are strongly kept under control by their culture; respect for teachers and elders is absolutely demanded, but to the point that if something bad happens, they literally have no one to talk to. The school system is pretty much akin to military school - school uniforms, the "middle school girl haircut" (to show she is underage), and harsh discipline.

Outside of school, the outstanding feature I have noticed (and I am not the only one) among middle-schoolers is the intensely physical same-sex friendships that develop. Some of this is cultural; same-sex adults are also very physical with each other (heck, they get naked in the jim jil bang/sauna together!), but not with the same intensity as I have noticed among middle- schoolers. I have observed adolescent boys sitting in each others' laps and cuddling, girls holding hands and stroking each others faces, long and intense staring into each others' eyes (both sexes), and other behaviors that make me well, frankly, uncomfortable. I do not believe this is intentionally homosexual behavior, but it does smell (sometimes literally) of "hornymones" going full blast. Many of them are still "innocent" enough not to understand why they are acting this way, but this innocence is what has perhaps led those poor girls from the article into the dangerous situation. It is pure biological urge untempered by understanding, in other words.

For the record, I do believe that American sex education is doing pretty well. I don't have a problem with teaching safe sex (only 12% of sexually active Korean men use condoms), biology, "just say no," and "alternative lifestyles." Although I am a practicing Christian, I am not an ostrich, and I believe in the world that we live in, it is important to know how to be safe by knowing what is out there. I think that basic health information needs to be passed on to Korean schoolchildren, as well as accountability. For all of the hullaballoo about America's sex education programs, I must say that in California (one of the more liberal states), they do a pretty good job of teaching accountability (as anyone who has had their class interrupted by "Baby-Think-It-Over's" crying can attest to). Abstinence is still taught as the only 100% "safe sex," but the other options are also taught as well. Knowledge is power, but only with accountability.

JOURNAL: A Fresh Start in the "Foreigner Ghetto"

2007-08-24T21:40:00.000+08:00

I have just moved back to Seoul - new job, beautiful apartment, and an interesting neighborhood. I will be blogging regularly again as my new job features less hours and I will have to spend less time doing battle over lack of water/blue water/lack of electricity/ lack of Internet/etc.

I am officially finished with my year of purgatory, and I hope never to have to visit the place again. I said goodbye to the green-haired hooker, the convenience store owner, and the apartment manager (who was equally glad to get rid of me I'm sure!). I hired a bongo truck (Korean pick-up) and hauled my belongings up to Seoul and my new home in Yongsan-gu, the so-called "foreigner ghetto." Actually, I would call it more a neighborhood with "character" than a ghetto. But first, the apartment...

It took me a good two weeks to find a good apartment - I knew I wanted to live in a certain area (i.e. cheap!), and most of the good options were already taken or out of my price range. I also had a bout with a rather nasty case of the stomach flu, followed by a severe food/medical allergy which sent me to the hospital twice. This all happened while I was apartment hunting, and suddenly I found that I had three days left before losing my old apartment. Needless to say, I was in a bit of a panic!

The first day I was allowed out of bed, I called yet a third realtor. She showed me a basement apartment (good size but no natural light) and a nasty mold farm, these being the only options in my price range. I was about to give up when she suddenly remembered another place that had just opened up. Although it was way out of my price range, I agreed to see it. It was perfect.

The landlord brought the rent down significantly; it turns out that his son graduated from the university I will be teaching at! Although the rent is still a bit high, it is doable. I have a three "bedroom" (only one of them is big enough for a bed), fully-furnished apartment with partial utilities included in the rent. I have a nice sized kitchen with an oven (a rarity in Korea), a bathroom with a bathtub (ditto), a fully furnished TV room, a patio/balcony, and even a computer desk! The apartment is clean and in good condition; it has been well-maintained and looked-after. I did see one cockroach, but the place is fully roach-trapped and appears to be bug-free. I am near a wooded area, so I fully expect to see a few bugs!

The neighborhood? Well, it is singularly unique for Korea. Koreans give this area a bad rap for some reason; it may have been a bad area at one time, but I feel much safer here than I ever did in Byeongjeom. First of all, the language of commerce is English. This is for a practical reason; for one, it is just outside the 8th Army Base Wall. Another reason is that there are a multitude of ethnic groups living around here besides Westerners - there are Nigerians, Filipinos, Southeast Asians, Turks, Arabs, and a few East Indians. It is a very heterogeneous mix of peoples and culture; the common language is English.

So is it "third world"? Not really. There are some signs of moderate poverty, but there are also signs of thriving businesses, gentrification, and a neighborhood life all its own. I enjoy hearing children playing in the street, old people nodding and grumbling out in the sun, dogs barking, cars passing by; these are all sounds of a healthy neighborhood. Everyone is friendly; I don't get the hard stares I got in Byeongjeom. Instead, people look at me, smile, and nod or bow, then go on their way. I do not feel like a Martian.

I live towards the top of a hill that makes Lombardi Street in San Francisco look like the flat Midwest. It is a bit dangerous for pedestrians as cars can't really stop once they get going...There are many blind corners, and you must rely on your ears rather than eyes to know when cars are coming. It is a good fifteen-minute hike, ten of it uphill, from the subway station to my place, but I like the exercise so far. The view is nice at night; I can see Namsan Tower all lit up from the main road as I trudge up the hill. There are several thriving "ethnic" restaurants around, a sports bar that serves very good hamburgers, and am honest-to-goodness American-style coffee house (not Starbucks), complete with tatty paperbacks in the corner. They also serve an American breakfast.

I think I am going to like living here. It is not very "Korean," but it is a functional international community. Some may scoff at me for not wanting to live the "authentic" Korean life anymore; the truth, as I have learned the hard way, is that no one who was not born and raised here will ever be allowed the authentic experience because Korea still embraces a culture of exclusion. This is their struggle as they join the international community - how to integrate globalization without losing their precious sense of national pride and identity. I am educating the new generation as best I can to be more tolerant of others, and I hope to help these young adults open their minds and hearts to outsiders.

JOURNAL: What Happened to My Vacation?

2007-07-20T18:42:00.000+08:00

I know I haven't posted for two months; the truth is I just haven't had the heart to do much lately. I have been on a three-month job-hunting odyseey that has left me jobless, hopless, and frankly, down in the dumps.

To update: the University did want to renew my contract with me; I politely but firmly requested that the housing be changed. They would not move on this issue, so I declined their offer. The University does all it can to have full control over our lives outside of the university without taking into account the fact that we have lives outside of work. Which brings me to my second point.

The chance of renewal was offered to me again, this time with an alternative apartment. I requested to see the said apartment and was denied this simple request. Furthermore, I was given less than one day to make my decision. The liason further said that the housing policy had changed so that everyone had to live in specific housing provided by the university near the university - in other word, no commuting. When I asked about this "new policy," I was informed that it was for emergencies (ie. sick teachers needing subs). The school does not pay substitutes; the person who is out pays the substitute, so it is none of the University's concern. In my previous contract, a minor housing allowance was provided for those who already had an apartment, but this has changed. I pointed out that this new clause makes the contract a "renegotiation" and not a "renewal," but the liason seemed inclined to (wrongly) quibble over semantics so I dropped it.

So I have been job hunting. Rather unsuccessfully. I am looking for a Uni position IN SEOUL; none of this rural crap anymore. I am also looking at upscale high schools. There is one high school in a nice suburb of Seoul that sounds promising, but I would still prefer a university (looks better on my resume). Even so, a foreign high school will get me brownie points when doing my teacher's credential. I am gambling on the breadth of teaching experience rather than the length of time that I have been here.

It only looks bad in Korea if I "step down" from a university. But Korea is a small place in the world, though full of stubborn and tenacious adherence to culture; sometimes we who live here forget that. They have survived numerous attacks and assaults on their culture after all. Saving face is everything.

NOTE: Guest Editor

2007-05-31T17:35:00.001+08:00

I am currently working on a multiple-part journal entry detailing my trip to North Korea. For those of you who have been waiting, I apologise. I have been very proactive in job hunting, writing final exams, photo editing, etc. and have had very little time to do any productive blog maintinence.

If and when (God-willing) I find a better university situation in Seoul, I solemnly promise to blog more often; my work hours doubled and my prep time vanished due to the loss of ten teachers...As a job, it has been a wonderful and life-changing experience, but I am ready to move on to more professional challenge and less, shall we say, lifestyle challenge...

That said, I did squeeze out some time to write a review as "LadySapphire" for another blog:

http://www.eflgeek.com

The blog itself is very well-written and has good information about the EFL instructor's life and job here in Korea. Check out my review of the Global EIL Conference last Saturday if you are interested in such things. I have been invited back as a guest editor.

PHOTOS: Beauty Among Squalor

2007-05-03T19:15:00.000+08:00

This is a rare moment of color in Byengjeom. The azaleas (Korea's national flower) are in full bloom along the gloomy pathway that heads under the bridge. I am standing a few feet in front of my apartment complex, looking left. You can see the train tracks opposite the flowers.

This is a hanbok (traditional dress) shop across the street from "the hood." Above it is a bank. In the window, the bank advertises in several different languages for the migrant workers. Philipinos and Bangladeshi are the "Mexicans" of Korea.

The Korean farmers grow chili pepper bushes to protect their main crop (rice) just as Americans plant corn. The only time of day that this scrubby bit of farmland is lovely is at sunset. Although it is not evident in the photo (my camera being what it is) the sky was actually mixed with violent shade of pinks and oranges; the sun appeared blood-red. I am standing at the bus stop as I take this in.

JOURNAL: Gloomy Tuesday

2007-05-01T16:28:00.000+08:00

I haven't blogged much recently lately because my situation is so ridiculous I can't find too much positive to say. "When you can't say something nice, don't say it at all." My experiences this year are of such a nature that public acknowledgement of the facts would sound like the lost episode of "The Sopronos. " After my ordeal is through and I am secure in a better place, I will expose all that has been happening. My sense of humor has (belatedly) kicked in, however; unfortunately, not many people find my sense of humor "normal." I find humor in the "theatre of the absurd" realm; literati, think Samuel Becket.

What I can't say in words (for fear of reprecussions), I will show in pictures. For those of you who are thinking, "She is such a drama queen, I don't believe it is that bad"....drumroll please.

My 'hood:

This is the bridge I have to cross under every night. I took this photo during daylight for obvious reasons...

Another view from the opposite side of the bridge. The dark corner behind the support is a popular "public bathroom" for drunks, and I have beeen more than once startled by a "patron."

Local massage parlor. As near as I can tell, operation is sporadic. The barber shop next door offers special "services;" note there are two barber poles. Although the rolling door is down, men come out the side and front entrance late at night. I peeped upstairs thourgh the windows one day when they were opened

(airing out?); they appear to be bedrooms.

One of many dog soup (boshintang) restaurants. I have posted this sign before; in context, you can see that it is right next to the police station.

The photo below is of a very cute puppy on a banner...Animal clinic? No. MEAL. I found this sizable banner in extremely poor taste. As much as I hoped that it was a banner for an animal rescue service, I am able to read Korean well. The blue lettering says "Gae go gi" which means dogmeat.

I believe the sign refers to this, the gaegogi farm next to my house (shown in photo). There are two puppies you can't see in the first cage; they are sleeping behind the board. Although the kennels are pretty dark, the puppies usually come over and wag their tails as I pass by. They are very curious about me, and press their darling little noses through the iron bars and raise their paws at me. This dog is bread specifically for meat. I have seen the dogs (dead, of course) without their skins in the freezer outside one of the boshintang restauraunts. I thought I was seeing things, but when I went closer, I saw that the carcasses still had the paws attached. The freezer was clearly labelled "Gaegogi;" the freezaer cover is taken off at night when the sexy clubs open. Presumably, you can choose your own meat. They look like stringy, tasteless meat to me; these dogs appear to be all coat. I can't imaging them tasting very good, and the aroma is very gamey.

Dogs aside, there is an evil aura on this side of town. Some people have perception beyond the temporal world; my friend is one of them, and this place scares her. My Korean friend from Seoul was also uneasy about this place. Some dark deeds have occured here in the past, and a malicious spirit lingers. Although not gifted with the Second Sight (thank God!), I knew something wasn't "right" the first night I slept in that apartment. There is a spirit of hopelessness and heavy oppression in these parts. Korea's only serial killer stuck in this small town; maybe his deeds were performed on this spot. The building is only 5 years old, and this land was country wasteland before. Who knows? It is a dark, unfriendly road that leads to the complex, bordered by the train tracks. It is the perfect place for a quiet murder...

TEACHER'S NOTES: Eau-de-Pig-Shit

2007-03-30T21:19:00.000+08:00

Some people have requested that I write more about my in-classroom teaching experiences, so here it goes…It is a long one!

I have been putting in “overtime” hours at two tiny country schools for two weeks now. These elementary schools are literally in the middle of nowhere, but are well-maintained and apparently well-funded. The buildings are bright, clean, and conducive to childhood learning. The property has a school garden and a rabbit hutch which they are responsible for tending. My first elementary school has only 78 students total, and the second has about 80.

No one is rich in the agriculture center of Korea, and it is here that the status of “developing country” can be palpably felt. South Korea is not a “third-world country,” but a “second world” (i.e. like Italy). There are subtle signs of near-poverty among the students, although no one is starving – far from it! Some of the children, however, are a little too “fragrant,” some appear to have minor health problems, most noticeably runny eyes, and some of them have unwashed clothes. Although in the minority, those students do stand out. The classes have anywhere from ten to fifteen students, which is usually quite manageable.

In the mornings, a driver in a mini-van picks up me, another teacher, and two assistants. We then wind our way though endless rice fields, hamlets, and pig farms. As we exit the van, the unmistakable scent of “eau-de-pig-shit” wafts in the breeze. The school yard is damp this morning from two days of thunderstorms, and the ruddy thick mud clings to our shoes. We slip of our shoes immediately as we enter the building and temporarily place them on the industrial rug. We pad over in our socks to a row of foot lockers about three across and five high. Inside each locker is a pair of black rubber slippers, which my Korean assistant laughingly called “ajushi slippers.” They are typically worn by older men in real life (ajushi means married man) and are ridiculously large for us to wear. I fall out of them several times as I get used to balancing on this odd-looking footwear, and my heel easily slips out the back of the backless shoes and I teeter precariously on the inch high soles. We place our street shoes in the numbered lockers, and move into the teacher’s lounge.

Today is my second time in the school. I teach a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth grade class for 40 minutes each. There are ten minute breaks between the classes. This morning, there is a change. I am ushered into the principal’s office. I did not meet him last week, as he was not on campus. He is a weathered, middle-aged, and soft-spoken gentleman, dressed in a slightly ill-fitting grey suit. He appeared to be very nervous and uncomfortable. He bashfully explained, through an interpreter, that he did not speak English at all. He had tried to learn by using language tapes, but had by and large failed to grasp it. This is not at all surprising, as I will explain later. His assistant brought my assistant and me a cup and saucer of green tea. The china was very nice, not the usual Dixie cup for everyday use. He did not seem to know what to say to me, and kept clenching and unclenching his hands. It is my custom to try and “draw out” shy people, but I failed in this instance. Awkward silence prevailed. TICK….TICK…TICK…

Through my interpreter, he ventured that it was very difficult to find native English speakers who were willing to come out to the country. He himself commuted from Mokpo, a reasonably sized country town about 40 km away. I assured him that I didn’t mind the country, as I grew up in a small town only renowned for strawberries. I mentioned that my hometown was next to the ocean, but that I didn’t care for seafood. My interpreter fell silent, and seemed reluctant to translate what I had said, other than “strawberry” (in Korean).

TICK…TICK…TICK…I made a few abortive attempts at conversation to put him at ease, but my recalcitrant interpreter did not bother to translate my small talk. I know she understood me, because I have had a regular English conversation with her before, so I can only surmise that I broke some unwritten social rule, though it absolutely eludes me as to what. I was as gentle, non-aggressive, and polite as I could be. I bowed and shook hands on the way out (as I have seen Korean business people do many times), which seemed to fluster the principal. He was probably relieved to see me go!

I went to my third grade class, and learned very quickly what I was up against. Korean education is taught solely by rote – memorization, repetition, and endless copying. Although my student’s knew the “ABC Song,” it became clear that they did not realize each letter stood for a SOUND. They gladly aped and repeated everything I said, even copying my vocal patterns, but there was no understanding behind the words. I tried to teach them the names of countries (the unit being “Where are you from?”) but they could not string words together and form sentences other than through repeating the sounds I made. My assistant helpfully (and perhaps sarcastically?) pointed out this problem, saying that it was “too difficult” for them. Well, duh, of course it is! You can’t run before you can crawl, but that is exactly what the Korean “English curriculum” demands. I was instructed to follow the chapters, though I do not have to use the book as written. Thank goodness for that.

The Korean “English curriculum” is a big, fat joke, and reminds me very much of the “whole language learning” craze in California public school during the 1980s. My grandmother, who was a teacher, almost resigned over these ridiculous methods, which ultimately lead to thousands of high school students in the late 90s who could barely read or write a sentence!

I call this sort of learning the “Professor Harold Hill School of Education.” For those of you who don’t know, this refers to the swindler character in the musical THE MUSIC MAN. “Whole language” threw out the idea of teaching phonics and grammar, with the basic premise that children learn language from being surrounded by it, listening to native speakers, and using their own “learning intuition.” There is no question that some of this is valid – young children learn by imitation. But the human mind needs patterns and discipline as well – in English, this means grammar and phonics. Whole language learning tacitly assumes that the child is surrounded by native English speakers, which in California is seldom true! The children learned the odd and incorrect English from their non-native parents, leading to confusion, frustration, and disintegration of language structure.

There is a prevailing though in Korean educators that “Gee, if we hire native English speakers to teach our children, they will speak better and pass more tests. But let’s not change the curriculum. Maybe the native speaker can, though magic osmosis, repeat words, play new games, and explain the rules of English grammar. We don’t need to hire credentialed teachers, can’t pay ‘em much anyway. We will just take any native speaker with a B.A. or B.S. who is blond, has blue eyes, is reasonably attractive, and hope our children will learn though exposure to pretty people!” I am exaggerating of course, but not by much. Teachers in Korea are the highest paid in the world – young men are told by their parents that the best wife is 2) a teacher, and 1) a pretty teacher! Along with the money grubbers are dedicated teachers who are sincerely interested in their students’ well-fare. The schools, as I said, are well-funded by the government.

“Well, back to the drawing board,’ I sighed to myself after a full day of failed lessons based off of the Korean curriculum. The students are, for all intents and purposes, rank beginners, although a few have studied for almost two years. When I tactfully asked their teachers about this, they said, “Well, they are country students,” as if that is an answer! They cannot read or write; they understand a little of what you say but cannot answer direct questions. I was very saddened by this development; I sincerely wish these children to learn and enjoy learning English. Rote repetition is not going to do this.

I tried to pick the brains of the homeroom teachers as to what they wanted me to do to supplement their teaching, but all I got was indifferent shrugs. No one seems to know where to start, myself included. I asked if they had taught any phonics – blank stares. Any writing? A rueful head shake “No.” Reading? No. ABCs? Bright smile “ABC Song!”

I ended my day on a high note - one of my sixth grade classes (nine boys, one girl!) is lively, easily engaged, and approaching “low intermediate” level. In full rebellion against the Korean textbook, I taught MY way. I got all of those rowdy boys on their feet, clapping out tongue twisters (Andy ran from the Andes to the Indies in his undies), doing the “North South East West” dance, and moving about the room. I got through left/right, ordinals, “where?” prepositions, and pronunciation all in 40 minutes. I did the letter “A” in the lower classes, having them write and trace the letter and name off words.

The lower grades have some discipline issues; they cannot understand me so they try to do what they want. The students spend long periods of time unsupervised; if there is a staff meeting, for example, the students are left to their own devices. One of the classes today was apparently without a teacher for the day – I came in and discovered they had all made origami flowers. At least they were creative rather than destructive. Several classrooms today were devoid of teachers, and I wonder if this is a regular occurrence.

I have instilled my own rudimentary discipline on the students, but I am afraid it backfired on me. One boy said something nasty to a girl and she began to cry, so I sent him to the corner with his hands braced against the wall above his head (a common Korean punishment). After a time, I made him apologize to her, but then belatedly remembered that a)Koreans never apologize (to admit wrong in a country continuously occupied could get you killed!) and b) the student did not know the meaning of the words he said, ‘I’m sorry.” I will have to rethink my classroom management style, as it does not apply if the children do not understand you!

After my day was over, I found myself in a blue mood. Not only had almost every lesson plan failed, my assistant (who is a grad student at my university) had felt moved to point this out. She was also very amused at my reaction to lunch – octopus tentacle soup, but to me it was no laughing matter. Yes, I did eat some – tastes like chicken gristle, but with purple tentacles attached! I am playing a game with rules I haven’t been given. Even though it is not my “main job,” I am compelled to make these children succeed. There teachers don’t appear to have any faith in them. I want to see their happy faces brighten up with understanding, not crumple up blank and confused like today. Korean children have unusually expressive faces…

Still depressed, I went home and took a nap. I woke up refreshed and formed my resolve. I am going to focus on phonics and writing from now on, none of this silly empty conversation crap. Even if I have to build language letter by letter and sound by sound, I will do it. My goal is to have them speaking sentences by the end of the semester AND UNDERSTANDING EACH WORD in those sentences.

Accordingly, this evening I went to the bookstore, and browsed their textbook section. I bought, out of my own money, a textbook on phonics and a basic sentence building-based primer. I will use these tools as a basis for writing, vocabulary building, and reading comprehension. As much as possible, I will keep to the themes of the Korean textbooks, if not the content or structure, but I will not go out of my way to do so if I feel they are not ready for it.

You have to crawl before you can walk, and you have to walk before you can run. Out of adversity comes experience, out of experience comes character, and out of character comes success!

JOURNAL: Confessions of a Madwoman

2007-03-01T12:51:00.000+08:00

I returned to Korea on February 27th after a long and relatively uneventful flight. I was very sad to leave the US again, and I considered not returning to the mess over here at all. So what stopped me? Well, here are my reasons:

1) Even though I have been ripped off, lied to, and placed in housing not fit for human habitation, I have decided not to play the game. I will uphold my word of honor, something I do not give lightly, even though the university has not kept strictly within the bounds of my contract. I will "let my 'yes' be my 'yes' and my 'no' be my 'no.'" Call me a fool, but honor is more important to me.

2) With the above said, the new administration, at our level at least, is trying to make necessary changes. Altough the powers-that-be flat out refused to let me move out and choose my own apartment, they did agreee to let me move to another apartment within the same building. The new head of the department has lived in the USA and has a decidedly Western attitude towards management, but he also recognizes that we have to deal with "Korean efficiency." He appears to be willing to be transparent with what is going on "upstairs."

3) This is an excellent resume builder. I would ideally like to work as a corporate trainer, teaching writing, speaking, and even ESL to employees of a large company. I know such positions exist, but I am a bit at a loss for where and how to obtain this sort of position. Any help would be appreciated...

4) I enjoy teaching the classes. The students are reasonably motivated, and I have learned quite a bit about teaching this year. I have always been creative, and this postition has truly allowed me to grow in wisdom and knowledge.

On a lighter note, Here is what occured when I came back to Korea:

It was 10:00 pm by the time I arrived in Byengjeom. The drunks were out in full force by then, and the taxi driver had difficulty passing through the street without mowing them down. I had two large bags on wheels, a hiking backpack, and a laptop bag with me - a heavy load by anyone's standards. Slick Willie (the liason) positively assured me via email that my apartment would be moved by the time I returned and that the apartment manager would leave the key in the mailbox for me. I should have known better and stayed in a hotel.

Needless to say, the key was NOT in the mailbox, and my cellphone was out of minutes because they time out from disuse over a certain period of time.

"Well," as I reasoned it, "as of last week the apartment had not yet been moved; maybe they forgot."

I decided to go to my old apartment in the same building and try the key. Lugging my baggage with me, I took the elevator to the fifth floor. I put my key in the lock and the door opened...sort of. The door handle had been taped at one end and anchored with more tape to a point inside the apartment like a makeshift "latch." I then noticed that the entrance way, what little I could see of it, contained clutter that was decidedly NOT mine. As I stood there, flabbergasted, a timid and frightened female voice inquired, "Aneong haseyo?"

"Errmm...hello? This is my apartment!" was all I could think of to say.

I tried to talk to the new occupant, but she was clearly frightened and shut the door firmly. That was when I lost it. I tried to roll my suitcases back to the elevator, but the largest one broke. Lack of sleep for 24 hours, the ridiculous situation I was in, and the inability to form a coherent thought finally overcame my good senses. Stomping, cursing, crying, and muttering like an idiot "but this is MY apartment! What do I do now? &^%$, &*!@, *&^%," I dragged the now defunct suitcase angrily back down the hall. As I moved away from my apparently "ex" apartment, I heard the new occupant sliding furniture against the door, and I added giggling to the mix. I could see the situation from her point of view very clearly - crazy American woman, probably drunk, a kidnapper still on the loose, and late at night to boot!

I left my luggage outside my new apartment (I hoped), and braved the drunk men to go into town to use the payphone. Naturally, they were all hanging around the phone booths, and were in a particularly frisky and jocular mood. I haughtily brushed passed them, startling some very alarmed street cats, who had been placidly munching on scraps from the impromptu and very ripe garbage pile next to the payphones. This proved to be an excellent, if unintentional, plan of action, as one of the oglers was sufficiently distracted to chase the fleeing cats under the cars. Koreans generally hate cats. This bought me enough time to make my call.

I angrily upbraided Slick Willie for not upholding his end of the deal, and he called the apartment manager. When I called him back a bit later, he said the manager was already on his way; aparently the manager had gotten a phone call from the very frightened new occupant! I got my keys.

The apartment manager refused the gift I brought from California to thank him for his trouble in moving all my belongings, and I can't say I blame him. It wasn't the usual "first refusal" Koreans give when offerd a gift, either. He was very annoyed, and I wonder if Slick Willie ever even told him about leaving the key in the mailbox.

I more or less made peace with Mr. Kim the next day, but kept the gift (Sees Candies) for myself!

My Internet still doesn't work, but the other appliances seem in fine order. Of course, the apartment was NOT cleaned; in fact there were old cigarette butts in the sink (eww!). But I will make like a Korean - wisk out my cleaning tools, and DEAL WITH IT!

JOURNAL: On Sabbatical

2007-02-15T02:35:00.000+08:00

I am currently "on Sabbatical" in California for some much needed r & r. I am finally getting over my winter cold after three weeks...sigh.

I have been cleaning out my old room in preparation for moving back out when I reurn to the US for good. I didn't know I had saved so much junk. Blame Oprah; I don't usually watch it but last week I did. A guest she had (his name escapes me) suggested that people who have physical clutter around also have weight and depression issues!

So, I am downsizing my lfie. If I am indeeed fated for a gypsy existence, then clutter is not very helpful. On that note...

My apartment in Korea is being moved; I will be going to a different apartment in the same building. This will not help with the noise level, but it might help with my utilities. Since I have been living in the "shithole," I have gone without power, water, and plumbing for 48 hour periods of time (it always happens at night or on the weekend!). My pipes froze when I went to Saipan; the apartment manager took a blowtorch to the wall; the tile was of course scorched, and there is a big black hole by my sink. It didn't work, by the way, and I had to wait for 12 hours with space heaters before I had water again! Two days later, I took a shower, and the tiles fell off the wall; one shard went through my heel, but it was easy to get out and no infection set in.

I took photos of all the damage, and recorded the F16s flying over the building. I sent this in to the powers that be. They cannot get out of my lease, so they are putting a Band-aid over the problem by moving me to a differnt apartment in the same poorly-constructed building.

I am gettin tense as I type this; it is my vacation, the sun is out, and I'm going out to enjoy it...

PHOTO MOSAIC: Saipan and Tinian Islands in Winter

2007-01-21T10:50:00.002+08:00

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JOURNAL: English Camp Diary Week 1

2007-01-19T15:58:00.000+08:00

KOREAN RECIPE FOR ENGLISH CAMP
Ingredients:
8 dignified professors
200 children, ages 10-16
8 teaching assistants (TAs), English level varied
8 general assistants (GAs), English level varied
3 broken copiers
Lots and lots of rice, no vegetables
a dash of “Korean efficiency”

Directions:
1. Make dignified professors sing, dance, and teach camp songs.
2. Teach 200 children English at least two levels above their head.
3. Give direct authority to TAs and GAs, ignoring the fact that most of the said TAs/GAs are in the dignified professor’s classes during the semester.
4. Make sure that only one copier works at any given time. This is essential during prep time.
5. Eat lots and lots of rice, as you will be eating unidentifiable Korean cafeteria food most of the week. Hoard vegetables, as they will not be in your food much.
6. A dash of Korean efficiency is needed to ensure that insanity is lost at the earliest moment.
Mix together and enjoy your break from reality….!

I got a great group of homeroom kids. I see them four times a day, and they are the highest English speakers in the camp. I have two fourth grade boys and nine assorted fifth and sixth grade girls. One of the girls actually lived in Missouri; she is fast becoming the star of the camp due to her proficient English and charismatic personality.

On Monday, we tested all the kids to determine their level. The kids did reasonably well, and the camp director broke Korean tradition by placing them in classes more or less by LEVEL, rather than age/grade. Some of my Bongdam Elementary students made it into the camp, which I believe is determined by lottery.

Tuesday, we met out homeroom classes. The kids get up at 7:30am, wash, eat breakfast, and then come to their morning classes at 9:00am, which are Reading/Writing (2 periods) and Storytelling/Homeroom (2 periods). We eat lunch with the kids, and after a small break go into our afternoon classes. The two afternoon classes, Listening and Speaking, get out at 3:40pm. There is a long break, and we meet the kids for dinner at 5:50pm. After dinner, there are special project which we work on until 8:40pm. We leave at 9:00pm, but the kids have a snack and wash up before going to bed at 10:30pm. It is a tough schedule for them.

Wednesday through Friday our evening project was the Class Chant/Class Song Competition. This event also includes making a camp flag. My team named themselves the OGRES, which, according to them, means “Oh Great! R******’s English! .” The chant was very simple, but the song challenged them. I reluctantly rewrote Ricki Martin’s “Cup of Life” for the group, and my GA taught them a Latin dance to go with it. They did ok in the competition, but they are not exactly the cheerleader type. Neither am I, so we suit each other quite well. I am banking on their strong English and “hamming” skills to win the play competition in two weeks.

My TA has limited English. He is a university student here and is about 20 years old. We get along well, but he constantly forgets to speak English to the students. This really annoys me, but he cannot seem to remember. I feel like I have lost this battle; fortunately, the children remember to speak English when I am in the room. Otherwise, he is very attentive to the children and they like him. My GA is very pretty and cute; she is a PE major and is studying dance. She has a very gentle touch with the children, but is more than able to make them mind her!

The office space is a bit more difficult to deal with. We have only four computers for eight people. Some of them are not connected to a printer, and some of them are not connected to the Internet. As coworkers, we are not used to being with each other 24/7, so there have been some minor conflicts and scuffles.The Korean staff put in 16 hours a day, but they are used to being crowded. To my knowledge, no one has gotten in a snit over there. This is surprising, as they are very tired and overworked. But then, so is half the country...

This is the first time many of the TAs/GAs (read “Camp Counselors”) have been away from their parents, as Korean university students live with their parents until they graduate. It will be interesting to see how this plays out. I remember my summer camp experience; the counselors always seemed to hook up with each other at some point in time. One of my counselors (his name was “Kangaroo”) proposed to another (her name was “Twinkles”) at dinnertime in front of the whole camp. He was accepted, and we all cheered. I always wondered whether they did get married.

I’m glad I’m here at English Camp,
There’s nowhere I’d rather be,
But if I weren’t at English Camp,
A teacher I would be!

All right boys and girls, its English Camp time! Everybody ready? ASA!!!!!YEAH!!!!

JOURNAL: Skinship for the Skin-scared

2006-12-12T18:54:00.000+08:00

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.

JOURNAL: Espionage

2006-11-08T20:21:00.000+08:00

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.

NOTE: Aaaargh...Pardon My Dust

2006-11-01T23:28:00.000+08:00

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

NOTE: Are There Any Good Men Out There?! A Response to an Article

2006-10-20T21:33:00.000+08:00

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.

JOURNAL: North Korea's Holiday Camp

2006-10-12T20:26:00.000+08:00

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.

PHOTOS: Er... Yeah...

2006-10-03T21:15:00.000+08:00

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.

JOURNAL: Working man's Viagra

2006-09-19T20:07:00.000+08:00

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.

NOTE: Interested in North Korea?

2006-09-16T20:44:00.000+08:00

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.

JOURNAL: Abandone Ye Hope of Slumber All Ye Who Enter Here

2006-09-13T19:46:00.000+08:00

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...

JOURNAL: The River Styx

2006-08-26T19:46:00.000+08:00

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.

NOTE: Back in Korea

2006-08-24T18:25:00.001+08:00

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.

Journal: Coming and Going

2006-07-28T14:42:00.000+08:00

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.

JOURNAL: Man Versus the Machine

2006-07-10T22:23:00.000+08:00

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.'"

PHOTO: Public Health Campaign or Advertising Capmpaign? You Decide...

2006-06-22T00:34:00.001+08:00

A Merchandising Empire Begins Below the Belt

The True Meaning of World "Cup"

A Real Red Devil

PHOTOS: Togo vs. Korea World Cup

2006-06-22T00:28:00.000+08:00

World Peace Gate and Fans

Goal!

Win!

Fireworks!

JOURNAL: "Daehanminguk!" Aarghhhh!

2006-06-21T20:23:00.000+08:00

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.

NOTE: More Traffic

2006-06-02T11:19:00.000+08:00

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

JOURNAL: Spring Fever and Bad English

2006-05-30T23:34:00.000+08:00

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!

Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part II

2006-05-29T21:50:00.000+08:00

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.

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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.

Photo Journal: Gyeongju Part I

2006-05-16T22:53:00.000+08:00

I arrived in Gyeongju on May 3, 2006, not certain what I would find. I took a late bus because I had been through a job interview earlier that afternoon. The bus journey was quite uneventful, except that it was a four hour ride with no bathroom. Naturally, I had to go, even though I had not had any liquid for hours. It would be a very Korean thing to do - take a four hour bus-ride without stopping - the Koreans are very stoic about suffering. Fortunately, two hours into the trip, we stopped at this waystation. You couldn’t miss this tourist kiosk, that’s for certain:

Tourist Kiosk

When I arrived, I noticed the bus station was not terribly well-lit, and it was clearly a more interesting part of town. The characters one might expect to meet in such a place are the same no matter what part of the world you are in; at 10 p.m., things looked a bit dodgy. I scanned my map, and discovered I had gotten off at the wrong bus stop; there is the Express Bus Terminal and the Intercity Bus Terminal. I got off at the Intercity, but my map was for the other one. My Korean wasn’t up to “bus terminal” but the lady at the bread counter indicated that it was a LOOONG walk. The scale on my map was missing, so after calling a friend, I asked a taxi driver where my hotel (x marks the spot) and/or the other bus terminal was. He pointed vaguely in the opposite direction for the bus terminal, then peered at my map carefully, using the headlights for a light. He asked his colleagues, but no one could tell me where I needed to go. Korean streets don’t always have names.

Frustrated, I began stumbling to the “love motel” row behind the bus station. I grew increasingly uneasy as I wandered through this part of the city; it was very dark, and the “ladies” had already left their “calling cards” propped up on the steps of the motels. One particularly garish hotel caught my eye. “Oooh, over the top,” I thought absently, observing the plush velvet stairs decked with photos of the local delicacies. I passed it, crossed my fingers, and went down a side street. I found myself back where I started, at the Intercity terminal. Two university-aged students came and offered their assistance. I never got their names, but one of them had a crazy tie that clashed nicely with his rock t-shirt. The other one zigzagged ahead down the street, leaving us in his dust. Suddenly he shouted, “Yo gi oh” (over there!). It was the “over the top” love motel with the stairs. If I had just looked up and read the Korean sign, I would have known that. So much for problem-solving.

With much smiling and bowing, the boys left me (probably wondering about my reputation!) on the steps of my love palace. The staff turned out to be very pleasant, and actually remembered my reservation – a rarity in Korea, as Koreans never plan ahead. The room was small, but well-appointed, with a large screen t.v., a wide bed, and “his ‘n hers” hangers. There were at least three boxes of Kleenex “for clean-up” in the amenities, “special” lotion, bottled water in the fridge, but alas, no condoms. When I flipped the light switch, the room was bathed in a glow of blacklight! After some fumbling around, I discovered the actual light switch!

There was one “Korean porn” channel, and, in my ever increasing interest in sex ed. in Korea, I decided to take time to see what it was about. Korean “porn” is actually quite tame compared to cable t.v. fare. Let’s just say if any of my students came across it, they would still be quite mystified as to “where babies come from.” This has a lot to do with censorship in Korea – T and A, but no frontal nudity below the waist. Actually, I’m not sure how anyone can get their jollies off this stuff as the “performers” are not remotely attractive even by Asian standards, and the videos are shot at peculiar angles. I flipped across a “shower scene” where the camera spent quite a bit of time on the lady’s legs; this would have been fine, except her legs were blotchy and scarred. Even so, the cameraman used as sexy an angle as he could. The women also tended to be a bit on the plump side, and, as I have mentioned before, overweight Korean women have CELLULITE. The men were exceptionally skinny, a fault which usually gets a man ribbed and ridiculed by his mates. A bigger and more cushioned body type is preferred by the ladies.

But maybe that was the point, a common man gets a woman, any woman. In many of the scenes, said woman was intoxicated to the point of compliance. Korean men are very shy unless intoxicated, what does this say about the women? As Westerners, we are horrified by the thought of a woman being taken advantage of in this fashion; American women are prone to cry “Rape!” at the least provocation. This is not a bad thing by any means, but it puts men in a certain position of powerlessness. Generally speaking, Koreans are introverts, and not prone to make waves; their powerlessness lies in their inability to communicate what they are REALLY feeling. It is only when the defences are down “after hours” that deals are made and broken between Korean business men. Maybe the same can be said about sexual relations.

2006-05-02T21:53:00.001+08:00

Cherry Blossoms

2006-05-02T21:53:00.000+08:00

Mountains

2006-05-02T21:52:00.002+08:00

Old and New

2006-05-02T21:52:00.001+08:00

Some flowers

2006-05-02T21:52:00.000+08:00

Children Enjoying Spring

NOTES: The Baby Story

2006-05-01T20:55:00.000+08:00

This is a continuation of my earlier discussion of sex education in Korea, so bear with me. I have done a bit of research, and found an older article on the subject at:

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/2003/03/14/MN19286.DTL

I was basically right on target, except for a few details. First of all, Korea still has one of the lowest AIDS rates in Asia. The strain is specifically known as "the Korean" strain, and is being spread almost exclusively through sexual contact. Needle-sharing is uncommon, and so is homosexuality. Although initially introduced by a sex worker who plied her trade on a U.S. military base, it is now spread from Korean to Korean.

Condom use is still not high; I have been told that this is because the Korean brands are made of very thick and uncomfortably tight latex. The Korean men I have spoken to (they will only talk about it if they are drunk) say they prefer to buy American brands, even though they are a little too big...I have no direct experience of this, so I will have to take their word for it.

Here is an exerpt from the above-mentioned article:

Changing attitude toward sex threatens South Korea
Growing promiscuity, lack of education may lead to
increase in AIDS, experts sayBobby McGill, Chronicle Foreign Service

Friday, March 14, 2003

Health officials say reluctance to use condoms,
a rise in infections among homosexuals, an increase
in young Koreans' sexual activities and lack of
information about contraception are likely factors
that could lead to a significant increase in HIV
infections in future years.

"Korea needs to be shocked by someone famous with
the disease, like the United States with Rock Hudson,"
said Kwon. "Maybe then parents will see the importance
of talking about it at home."

The government now offers a Web site with AIDS
information, a 24-hour hot- line and free AIDS tests.
The National Institute of Health also plans to install
18,000 condom vending machines at major nightspots
throughout the country and at "every possible location
we can," said Kwon.

Recognizing the reluctance of parents to address AIDS,
sexuality and especially contraception, a government
campaign encourages middle school and high school
teachers to lead candid discussions with their students
about the consequences of unprotected sex.

Starting at the middle school level, students are taught
about abstinence and safe sex practices. But critics
say the depth of classroom discussions depends on the
willingness of individual teachers to broach the subject.
Students say some would rather show anatomical charts
and tame videos than preside over a frank discussion.

Saets Byul Choi, a 16-year-old high school student from
the industrial city of Ansan, just south of Seoul,
recalled a recent video shown at her school.

"It was about a man and a woman who fall in love and get
married. They get into the bed fully dressed and the
screen goes black," she said. "When they return to the
screen, the woman has a big stomach."

Yet, clearly, babies do happen. It is spring in Seoul, and babies are almost as abundant as the spring flowers. Women carry their babies in a blanket sling, rather than a baby carrier. These bundles of joy are just that; they grow like tumors on hapless female backs. They appear to be comfortable, and flirt with passing strangers over their mothers' (and grandmothers') backs. I get lots of stares and an occasional grin on the subway when their mothers are otherwise distracted.

Trendy mothers carry their babies in front-slings, as was popular in the mid-eighties in America. Father's carry young children in their arms more often, although the less dignified (and typically younger) fathers also use the front sling. I have never seen a baby carrier in Korea, though I do see the occasional "pram."

Today I got to hold one of the little Korean babies. I went to my usual sandwich shop, and one of the employee's relatives brought her baby in. As it was a little slow, the baby got passed around among the employees. Even Mr. Pak, who can be a bit stiff and formal, picked up the child and crowed at it. I finished my lunch, picked up my bag, and walked out the door.

The mother, who appeared to be very young, handed the baby off to her sister. I said "Anyung" (hello) to the baby in passing, who appeared to be about three months old, and was startled when he gave me a toothless grin. I put my finger out, and was surprised at the grip the little guy had. He was apparently older than I thought, because he reached for me. Before I could say a word, he got passed to me.

Now, an American mother would never pass a baby to a random stranger, especially one who was not expecting it. Fortunately, he was strong and able to hold himself upright and move about. I wondered how old he actually was; his mother was very small so perhaps he was just undersized. After "making friends," I bounced him around and "flew him" gently (which got another toothless grin)up and down. He loved this, and so did his grateful mother (who looked very tired).

I have not held a baby for over a year, and it was bittersweet for me. I find it very painful, and try to avoid it because I may never have one of my own; the thought hurts me more than I can bear. At the same time, it felt so good to hold a new life in my own hands. Yesteday, I held a puppy at the subway station; today I held a person. Of course, the little kids at work "tackle hug" me; Korean children are very affectionate and demonstrative. It is not the same, however. Am I seeing "dancing babies" already? Or is it just spring?

JOURNAL: The Russians Are Coming...

2006-04-17T23:11:00.000+08:00

There are many good reasons for visitors not to get into trouble in foreign lands. You can't speak the language, the government doesn't have any reason to listen to you, and you may or may not be given a fair hearing. These are basic things anyone travelling should be well aware of before trying to upset the locals. But what if the combatants are foreigners?

First of all, I was only there for the first part of the "incident." The rest was told to me by eye-witnesses; under cross-examination, their stories all checked with each other, so I am inclined to believe what happened, given my own experience earlier that evening.

One of my coworkers was having her birthday party in Apkujeong. Apkujeong, I must explain, is a district (sometimes called "Rodeo Drive") where the rich, famous, and trendy Seoulites (and others) like to shop, get plastic surgery, and drink. Overpriced botiques abound, overabundantly filled with the REAL Prada, Calvin Klein, Chanel, and Louis Vutton products that those-who-have love to purchase. I myself own some very nice fakes; my $10 "Prada" purse has more than once been taken for the real thing. Actually, I didn't even know it was a "Prada" until someone told me so; I just liked the interesting design (aligator leather, spikes, and a bow!). My rhinestone "diamond" Chanel watch also has passed muster.

You can also, for a reasonable price, get a "packagee" (Konglish), which I beleive includes a nose job, eye fold removal surgery (to look more Western - actually, it just makes Asians look permanently surprised) and Botox (ditto). The Deluxe Packagee includes a boob job. Hmmm....maybe I can get my extra "chin" (which I had even when ridiculously skinny) removed...

I have only been in Apkujeong a couple of times, but I have generally found the place a bit pretentious; I paid 10,000 won ($10) for an elaborately-presented fancy mug of...pre-powdered hot chocolate. Nevertheless, I decided to swallow my pride and go to the party at an Apkujeong club called "The Garden." I like this particular coworker quite a bit, and, even though still recovering from my bout with pnewmonia, I decided it was worth it to go.

I arrived there and my coworker's boyfriend, a very handsome and outgoing young man (especially for a Korean) graciously showed me the way. We went through what seemed to be a maze of stairs and hallways to a small club in the basement. It was nothing grand, but not a dive either. We went up another staircase, and into a room with chairs and tables behind a glass wall. You could look down at the dancers on the floor from behind the glass. These rooms completely encircled the dance floor, but the noise level was much more conducive for talking.

Ladies got in free, and after 11, drinks were two for one. I later discovered that this special did not include water...I asked for bottled water, but the bartender heard "Budweiser." I tried to argue with her, but she just looked puzzled, then feigned that she did not speak English (I heard her later doing just that). I HATE Budweiser, and I only really wanted water, but it was cold, and strangely refreshing. In for a penny, in for a pound, and I nursed two Long-Island Iced teas for three hours. My big meal helped with this. At the price, I figured they were charging me for two anyways.

With all the "let's go clubbing" talk going around earlier, no one actually danced. There were surprisingly many foreigners of many different nationalities mingling freely and speaking English. There were a few handsome Persian businessmen, a Spainiard, a random Indian or two, and a couple of Russians. There were decidedly more men than women; most of the women were in fact, in our group. Many of my coworkers are very attractive women in their own right, but they are not fashionably so. One girl is blond, strongly built, and well over 6 foot three. She has a vivacious personality which makes her beautiful in many conventional men's eyes. We had a red-head, a brunette with pale skin, and various Korean girls whom I didn't know. I felt like a dud, actually.

One of the Korean women (forgot her name) turned out to be the sister of my trainer at the gym, and she was a stunner. Tall, slim, and with long black hair, she OWNED the room. She was completely low-key and down to earth; I chatted with her for some time, and found that she was very likeable. She spoke English with an Australian accent, which made her all the more charming. What really stood out was that she was tanned, and looked more Italian than Korean. Her brother is also dark (Koreans are light-complected). She was definately getting some looks, but didn't appear to be too interested.

I wandered about aimlessly; no one was looking at me after all, so I felt free to look at the "pretty people" in relative silence. Suddenly, one of my coworkers came charging up the stairs and said, "You'll never guess who just walked in!"
"Who?"
"A group of women with legs up to HERE!" indicating her neck (she is shorter than I am).
With nothing better to do, I followed her down. Sure enough, a group of very tall, anorexically thin, and leggy Caucasian women stood in a group at the foot of the stairs. I observed them for awhile, and discovered they were speaking Russian. A well-groomed, well-muscled man ordered them about (in Russian), and they moved quickly and efficiently in their tight little group onto the dance floor. Eyes bulged and tongues panted out, but the ladies kept to themselves. I later learned that they were Russian models, presumably doing a shoot in Seoul.

I ran into them in the bathroom several times (side effect of the antibiotics). The
models obsessed over make-up, adjusting clothing lines, and looking snooty at the "commoners" using the stalls. I kept seeing one blonde in there - her barely present blouse kept riding up, exposing her prominent rib-cage and immaculately-waxed bikini line. She looked very hungry, and I felt a bit sorry for her. Until I ran into her alone.

On my last trip to the bathroom, I pulled out a lipstick. I discovered, to my horror, that it was REALLY the wrong shade, but, as I reasoned, the club was dark and no one would notice. Nevertheless, I went to one of the many mirrors in the trendy bathroom (think "Saturday Night Fever") and applied the pale shade as darkly as I could. I leaned over the sink, and suddenly realized that the girl was watching me. She was very tall, and towered over me in her spike heels. Not one word was exchanged, but she glared down at me with contempt. Her look confounded me, as I had not said a word to her, but it soon became apparent what the trouble was. The common little pansy was overshadowed by the brilliant and showy geranium, but dared to smile in the glow of her too-brilliant plummage. I calmly went about making my modest toilette; the queen would have to wait for her mirror (or use one of the other dozen in the room). I took my time, then left.

I left the club shortly after that; I do not belong in the world of pretty people. The girls in our group also elected to leave, and head for the college-town Hongdae club district. I made my excuses and taxied home.

Apparently, I missed the real fun. The group stayed out until 7 a.m., and a few of them spent some time in the police station. The beautiful Korean girl from Australia had apparently had one too many suitors, at least, until her burly trainer-brother showed up. The scuttlebutt is that he was VERY protective of his little sister, but also left before she did.

The lead up to the "main event" is a little hazy, as most people there were well in their cups, but at some point ANOTHER group of Russian women turned up. These ladies, it soon became apparent, were practitioners of the oldest trade in the world, and one of them did not take the unintentional competition from a pretty Korean girl well. The woman "accidentally" scratched the Korean girl on her face. Korean girl did not fight back, but calmly and collectedly asked for an apology. The woman absolutely refused, and Korean girl, after several more reasonable attempts to make peace rather than pick a fight, called the police. The "lady" called her "brother" from the police station, and when he came to pay the fine levied against her for public disturbance, absolutely berated and yelled at her. He forced the woman to apologize to the Korean girl, then carried his "sister" away, still spitting angry.

I am very glad, when it comes down to it, that I have a lawyer-friend who speaks the language; nevertheless, I hope I never find myself in that situation.

JOURNAL: Miracle of Life?

2006-04-10T22:46:00.000+08:00

Something that keeps coming up at the oddest moments has finally provoked me to discuss a subject I have broached before. I bring it up again because a. it both puzzles me and frightenes me and b. it keeps coming up in my conversations with Korean women. Call me Margaret Meade. It is Korean men and women's ignorance about their own bodies.

Remember that, just a few months ago, there was a scandal attached to a professor at a prestigious university in Seoul, a man who fudged his own research in regards to stem-cell research. How did this fact get by so many people on his project? You may well ask. Given the complete ignorance about human reproduction I have encountered among well-educated and otherwise intelligent Korean adults, I am no longer surprised. This does not even only cover the more...er...earthly aspects, I am talking simple cell division, DNA, and the life cycle of cells.

First, let us discuss the touchy issue of sex education in American public schools. I see nothing wrong with teaching a few basic facts about how babies are made, birth-control, and the amazing miracle of conception; someone likened it to the odds of 1078 blind people solving a Rubik's cube at the same exact moment!By about fifth grade, the average American child (especially if they have cable tv) has a rough idea about where babies come from. The details are a little hazy; this can be problem if incorrect guidance is provided through the dubious avenuse of peers, television, or older siblings. Educators are well-trained to deal with the more technical aspects, and should be given a chance to offer cold, hard facts. What my parents didn't cover I learned through my sixth grade science teacher.

My parents were quite open all through my childhood about information concerning where babies come from, though I was a bit confused about when my mother told me (at age 8) that some women "sold their body to men." I innocently thought this was a good thing; there are many accident victims out there missing body parts after all who might want a new arm or leg. But I digress... My point being I had a general idea of what went where, and that what went up must come down...presto chango - a new life.

My church took our sixth grade girl's group through the ubiqitous (in the fundamentalist Christian childhood of the 80s) Dr. Jame's Dobson's "Preparing for Adolescence." I was already prematurely developed, so none of the information about periods, breasts, or copulation was new to me. He was very vague on spiritual issues, I found, and I'm afraid he left me more confused than enlightened. That was my problem with Fundamental Baptist Christianity, "Because God said so."

The other milestone of my knowledge was a video shown on NOVA in the mid-eighties. I had a childhood addiction to science programs, and my mother watched this "new documentary" with me; I must have been about 8 or 9. It was, as you may have guessed, "The Miracle of Life," a still-wonderful and astounding video of the process of life from conception to birth. There was nothing titilating or sexy about it; we watch the sex act from INSIDE the woman rather than externally, though the film ends in a graphic filming of the birth of this being we have watched from conception to live birth. The photography is astounding, and it is because of this film I became rather strongly pro-life (except in cases of danger to mother).

The film was remade with updated technology in 2001, and was retitled "Life's Greatest Miracle." You can watch the new version at:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/miracle/
It has a TV-14 rating, so it is pretty safe.

In sixth grade public school, we separated boys from girls in Health class, and were allowed to ask questions. We did group work together on diagramming the reproduction system, and we were given a basic knowledge of the hydraulics (male) and receptors (female) involved in conception. No specific moralizing was done except to remind us that this sort of activity created pregnancy; we listned to a teenage mother speak about her experiences to drive home the point. Most of the education was basic - how to take care of your smelly, awkward, and weirdly-functioning adolescent body, why boys were weird, why girls were moody, how not to annoy each other too much, and group dating (in the late 80s, this was considered a safe way to interact between the sexes during the tween years without getting into too much trouble.)

In ninth grade biology, we went into more detail of the science of reproduction. We watched the "Miracle of Life" again, but, as I was in a prviate school, a little moralizing was done, albeit in a strange way. I had already seen the documentary, so I was unperturbed by the live birth scene. Some of my classmates, however, were quite traumatized. Instead of taking compassion on these poor girls, who never even knew how babies got into their belly, seeing one come out (remember, men, girls can't see their equipment without being trained contortioist with a hand-mirror) was quite frightening. Some of the girls cried or covered their eyes; the boys snickered or blushed. The teacher, instead of taking compassion on these students, rewound the tape, and played the live birth scene TWICE MORE. He then quietly said, "This is why you don't have sex before you are married." His point worked, because we only had two pregnancies in the class of 1994.

So, what kind of education do they get in Korea? Nothing. Nada. Zip. At least, as near as I can tell.

I spoke to a forty-something unmarried woman, who had only a vague sense as to how children came into this world. She was not embarrassed; she simply did not have a clue. This came out after a vague reference from a gyopo (Korean American) to the process of childbirth. None of the women (singles) even knew what he was talking about. I thought it was odd, but continued the conversation in another direction (defending a woman's right to gossip!) with the young man. The single older women looked puzzled, and I hesitatingly asked if they knew what we were talking about. They admitted that they were clueless. I gently explained that in some Western cultures, childbirth is openly discussed among women of a certain age, whether they have had children or not. Any gathering of close female friends will result in some discussion of this subject (see "Sex and the City"); in married women, it tends to be childbirth-oriented, rather than process-related. I then bluntly asked the oldest woman if she had ever learned about or seen a baby born. She said she hadn't. This conversation happened months ago, but it stuck in my head.

A rather Westernized Korean male friend of mine brought up the subject in a recent phone conversation. This person learned the facts of life through looking up things in the encyclopedia! No one told him why his body was acting crazy so he decided to find out. This man is well-educated and intelligent, so I was a bit taken aback when he asked what happened to the cord after birth. Where did it go? I was puzzled by this question for a minute.

"Does it go back up inside the woman?"
"WHAT?! You mean, you don't know? Where do you think we get a belly button?"

That stumped him.

"The cord comes out with the afterbirth...." I prompted.
Silence.
(What's that? He wondered).
Exasperated by this hole in his education (and slightly amused) I patiently and thoroughly explained the process in very scientific detail. I can't imagine going through thirty-something years of life wondering vaguely, how does the baby eat inside the mother? Why do we have belly buttons?

I then began to wonder about other adults. I got a clue tonight in my sixth grade writing class. A few of the kids who have been American-educated do know basics; I try to keep the topic out of my classroom, but it does spring up in odd ways. Kids are very curious at that age, and Korea does them a great disservice by not explaining things. I have developing adolescents in grade five as well (they start school a little later) so these poor children must be traumatized by their crazy bodies. Tonight we were talking about where people were born. Some were born in Korea, but others were born in America or Europe. One girl piped up and said,
"I was born three weeks early."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, I was born at nine months, not ten."
I absently corrected her.
"Then you were born on time. Women carry babies for nine months."
"No. Babies are inside their mother's stomachs for ten months. I was too early, and they had to cut my mother open to get me out."
To my surprise, other girls in the room agreed with her about ten months. Now, I know Koreans reckon birthdays differently (you are considered a year old when you are born) but they count months the same way. Another girl piped in and said,
"Yeah. My mother and father didn't even have birth dreams before I was born."
Puzzled, I asked her what she meant.
"You know, when you dream that you are going to have a baby. How else are you going to know you are pregnant?" (Uh, big stomach?)
One girl described seeing a woman give birth on a plane; the baby came out from under the woman's skirt after a burst of water. That must have been a sight for a child.

I abruptly changed the subject to get out of the danger zone; this particular group really trusts me and confides in me, and I was afraid of the trouble I could get in. They do not hesistate to ask awkward questions.

Given the stigma attached to unwed pregnancy, it seems to me Korea should focus on arming its teenagers against ignorant mistakes. Unwanted babies are simply aborted, but if young women don't know how they get pregnant in the first place, shouldn't they be told?

I have seen more than one late night "alternative" Korean movie about the trauma of an unwanted pregnancy. A high school girl, upon hearing the news, jumps headfirst off a school building while her classmates watch in calm disdain. A guilty young father tries to raise money for an abortion. He is too late however; his girlfriend aborts herself in a bathroom stall, and dies in his arms.

One movie in particular haunted me. In it, a girl goes into a rather dingy abortion clinic. She lays on the table in her hospital gown in a dark room. The camera follows her eye movements; she scans the room, the tray of instruments, the monitor, and finally she comes to rest on the suction pail for almost a full minute. Her eyes go wide, and a silent tear rolls down her cheek. Blackout. The movie follows her with compassion as she recovers; the best friend of her boyfriend cooks seaweed soup for her (a Korean remedy for childbirth - very nutritious I am told), entertains her, and even changes her sheets. She is silent for most of the rest of the movie. Naturally, the boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

The Korean government keeps harping on the "low birthrate" in the country. Women are waiting to have children like their American counterparts, so the government is sponsoring incentives to promote pregnancy. Nature always finds a way to bring life, but I question how much of it might be snuffed out before it begins. It seems to me that knowing how the body works might be one way to control this problem. American women, for example, know that there is a window of time in their cycle where they are likely to get pregnant. Accordingly, they adjust their nocturnal activities to either avoid the danger zone, or embrace it. Would this scientific knowledge help at all? On the other hand, STDs are the lowest in the world; I suspect this is because they go unreported. There is qutie a bit of marital unfaithfulness going on. How many women are infected, don't know it (no one goes to the OB/GYN unless they are pregnant), and are accordingly infertile due to their spouse's unfaithfulness?

Public health campaigns work WELL here. Children and adults dutifully march to the bathroom with their toothbrushes after every meal, diet crazes are obsessively followed (I love the sweet potato diet!), and everyone takes their vitamins. Maybe a public health campaign for reproductive issues might be in order.

BOOK RECOMMENDATION: A New Category

2006-03-28T23:13:00.000+08:00

It occured to me that, as I read a wide variety of books, to starT a book recommendation section in my blog. People are aLways asking me about what I am reading, so here it is.

1. THE AQUARIUMS OF PYONGYANG by Kang Chol-Hwan and Pierre Rigoulot
This memoir is a harrowing account of a boy and his stint (with his family) in a North Korean prison camp. It has nto had much success among S. Koreans, but Americans have been reading the book quite frequently. I picked up a copy and, pro-Bush enthusiasm aside (trading one dictator for another, I guess), this book is pretty fair-handed. The man who went throguh it now works for Seoul's daily newspaper, so he has excellent journalistic eye for detail.

2. THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY by Erik Larson
This book defies categorization, other than history. A very clever writer has taken two historical events and twined them together in one fascinating read. It is about the Chicago World Fair in 1893, and is also about a serial killer names Dr. Holmes who used the fair as his hunting ground.

3. STUPID WHITE MEN by Michael Moore
I have this one a try on a whim (and a cheap used book) and actually found the man had something to say. While I don't particularly agree with his answers, I do agree with the kinds of pointed questions he raises about the state of the union. He is vey humorous, if exasperating, about the political climate that gave us Bush, Jr.

NOTES: Fat Floats

2006-03-23T23:09:00.000+08:00

"I have found that over time I slowly began to let go of some of the ideas about what constituted weightloss success, which led to letting go of unrealistic expectations, which led to less guilt and self loathing for never reaching those goals, which led to a happier state of being and then this all led to a healthier lifestyle and ultimately weightloss. Not weightloss in a can, bottle, or box but weightloss in the truest spiritual sense. Now that my excess weight is not the priority in my life I find that I enjoy life more and this in turn makes me a happier person. Cure the mind and the ass will follow."
Steve Vaught
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com

I was going to jump right into a three (?) part entry on the Korean education system tonight, but my thoughts quickly turned elsewhere. As this is my journal, I want to share some encouragement I got tonight.

First of all, it was weigh-in time at the gym. Althoguh I have not really seen any improvement, I have apparently lost 1.2 kilos (2.6 lbs) in one month. It does not sound like much, but I have also changed .8 kilos (1.8) of fat to muscle. Basically, I have lost one brick of Tilamrook Pepperjack Chesse (drool drool) of body fat. Of course, I still have "miles to go before I sleep," but it is encouraging.

While I was browsing the Yahoo News today (pathetic, but the only real English-language news I get here), I noted an article about a man who was walking across America to lose weight. When I tried the website, the site was down (due to heavy traffic, evidently), and made a mental note to try again this evening. I just spent about a half hour on his journal/blog, and I am quite encouraged.

Mr. Vaught speaks candidly and openly about the good, bad, and the ugly about weight loss and mental health (he has lost over 100 lbs on his journey so far). Of course, we should already know that there is a connection between weight gain and coping with life, but some people seem to have forgotten.

I was forced to admit that I stress eat sometimes. I am primarily overweight due to lack of exersise rather than food intake (I am in Asia after all!) but I am working on it. I will also admit that I suffer from chronic depression, and eating is sometimes the only thing that quells the inner hunger. Something about this man's story struck a chord in me, and, judging from the responses to his website, struck a chord with other people too. Are we a nation of seriously depressed individuals?

Think about it. In American society, at various times in history, alcohol has been banned, smoking has been banned, sex has been banned....now "fat" is being banned. What "vices" do we have left? No wonder we are depressed. It's a tough world out there, and, after fighting our way through our jobs, traffic, and relationships, is it any wonder that we feel the need to splurge on something?

Of course, in moderation, the above "vices," when taken/indulged in moderately, become relatively innocuous (except perhaps smoking). A drink or two on the weekend isn't going to kills anyone or GASP make them an alcoholic. Moreover, a little drink is useful in preventing heart disease. Sex releases useful endorphins and seratonin in the brain (regardless of prowess or technique) that help create a steady mental balance. Maybe lack of this type of activity is why many single people are so uptight and aggresive. A little body fat is also good; we should not get below 20% BFI or we start getting ill.

Although I have a long way to go, I feel a bit upbeat tonight. The mental and physical exhaustion from doing my "hamster in a wheel" routine did achieve some results, though progress is slow. Check out Steve Vaught's site at:
http://www.thefatmanwalking.com

NOTES: Emerald Lady's "Personal Ad"

2006-03-20T21:09:00.000+08:00

The Kiss

Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Me
Elton John
(Elton John/Bernie Taupin)

I can't light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I'm growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life

Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light

Don't let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me

I can't find the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way I feel
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal

JOURNAL: The V Monologue (you know what I mean!)

2006-03-16T23:20:00.000+08:00

I have reached a milestone.

Koreans: 2 (the boob thing...twice)
Emerald Lady: 3 (the boob thing twice, and tonight...score!)

Last night I was thoroughly discouraged when I went to my workout. Things had gone bad at work (dumb parent complaint that I got blamed for), I was tired and fractious from rowdy children all day, and I got thoroughly reamed in the stretch class. The trainer seems to think that by just screeching "back straight! back straight!" that I can do it while contorting in weird positions. You see, Koreans don't believe in disability or difficulty doing things; you get the way you are because you are lazy, or worse, a "baby" (highest Korean insult next to S.O.B.).

My body doesn't look any different, though the scale says I have lost a kilo (about 2 lbs in three weeks). This is pathetic. The trainer appears to think I am not working hard enough. The truth is I am screaming in my head at every thump of my shoe hitting the pedal "You are fat! You deserve this! Lazy ass! Get moving! That's it! Jiggle a little faster!" There is no "beautiful" left in me, so why am I even trying? Because I never give up without a fight, that's why. I will conquer this flabby piece of blubber that some call a body even if it kills me....and it just might.

You see, sometimes, it seems like a punishment to be there. My muscles ache, I get acne from the sweat (though the yellow dust storms from China aren't helping), and I look like a pregnant tomato in the gym uniform (remember that I said orange and grey are not my colors). I snap at everyone who tries to help me on the other hand. John is a nice guy, but very me-man you-woman you-listen. He gets annoyed when I try to argue. I don't think he likes me much, as he has been avoiding me lately. Not that I have been very pleasant lately either.

Tonight I made an effort to be pleasant, but I found myself being negative again so I clammed up. The mess at work is continuing, but will be cleared up by Monday...I hope. Stretch class went ok, and I took John aside. I politely requested to change from cross-trainer, which I hate, to treadmill, which is dull but reliable. Surprisingly he agreed, after expressing a little concern over my tricky knee. We are trying it out for awhile to see what happens. The treadmill also has a tv screen, best of all! It is cleverly angled so that to see it correctly you have to be aligned correctly! I did a total of 1:20 of cardio plus a 40 minute stretch class. I do this 4 times a week for 3 weeks, and all I get is 2 pounds off for good behavior? Ridiculous!

With something new to do at last, I began putting more effort into it. The treadmill is, of course, automatic, so I can't slack off. I really began to sweat this time. I was so sticky afterwards that I decided to conquer my fear of public showers. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

I must digress a little. Of course, no American woman likes to be naked in front of other women because we are hypercritical of each other. Anyone who has ever suffered through middle school gym class knows this. I used to get teased, get this, for being too thin! I got called "anorexic," "the wall," and "skinny" (hate that word more than fat). I always undressed under a towel, but inevitably, some body
parts poked out for criticism. And they did criticize.

Koreans are no different. The reason this doesn't matter as much to them is that they are raised by being endlessly criticized and pushed by their parents. "Do you want to be stupid?" parents often say. Or, "Don't you want to go to Harvard/Stanford/Princeton?" This applies to bodies also. I see quite a number of overweight children in the gym. I have some roly-polies in my classes as well. The Korean sense of humor, unfortunately for hapless foreigners, stems from things people do that are out of the norm. "Haha, you wear a headgear! Haha you have a big belly. Haha, you are not good in geometry!"

Unlike in America, where kids are psychoanalyzed (Why does he keep eating? He must be making up for some lack. Do his parents love him enough?), Koreans take a pragmatic approach. They send their children to the gym or taekwondo academy and cut down the children's eating habits. Kept on a traditional Asian diet, the kids stay thin (Asians appear to have a lightning-fast metabolism). The snack food craze is causing the problems in the other direction. Koreans aren't particularly candy-crazy (except for chocolate), but they do like their potato chips (and squid chips, and freezedried French fries).

To get back to my main point...I decided that, while I was down, I certainly couldn't fall any further. Sweaty, exhausted, smelly, and desperate for cleanliness, I entered the locker room. Fortunately, it was very empty. When I was certain no one was looking, I peeled my sticky clothes off, and, after a minute's hesitation, peeled them ALL off. Forcing myself to breath naturally, I padded over to the laundry bin, and dumped them in. I grabbed a tiny pink towel, and entered the communal shower.

The room was filled with busy ajumas. So that's where everyone was! I stood under a spigot, and tried to figure out the water works. It took a few tries, but I got the hang of it. I glanced around, and saw that what I took to be a towel was actually a particularly brutal fom of washcloth. The material was very rough and nappy, like the cheap, Kmart variety in the U.S. I observed a rather corpulent ajuma soaping up the pink towel, and SCRUBBING her body, like she was doing the laundry by the scrub and tub method. She began at the top and methodically worked her way down, presumably to slough off dead skin. I have, of course, HEARD of an "ajuma scrub" from the foreigners who frequent saunas, but I had never seen it done before. I have been told that sometimes they will begin doing it, unbidden, to other women, including foreigners.

I soon noticed that every one was doing this. I winced as I saw two women pass the towels THROUGH their legs and scrub very roughly (think flossing) in a very delicate area....well, I reasoned, probably no worse than drunk husbands with bad aim... or childbirth. But OUCH!

I stuck to my Western ways with a plain old bar of soap and a good rinse. No one bothered me and I didn't bother anyone. I think if someone had offered to scrub my back, I might have even taken it. They were saggier and baggier than me, after all.

NOTES: Random Quote of the Week

2006-03-14T21:34:00.000+08:00

No explanation is needed for the following quote:

"Always remember that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window...It's the hallways that are a bitch...." Shirley Barr, Stephanie's (coworker) Grandmother

JOURNAL: Boobs

2006-03-13T23:18:00.000+08:00

A note on the previous post - I was not imagining things when I said everyone in the locker room was staring at my boobs. They were.

I have befriended the yoga instructor at the gym, a warm, friendly, and beautiful Korean woman who I will call Esther. I ran into her on my way home from the gym on Thursday, and we began to chat. We warmed to each other immediately, and she felt no hesitation in holding onto my arm and hands even though we had just met. The Koreans have no difficulty in expressing same-sex physical affection.

Esther has a strong and warm "gi," a concept which is a very spiritual matter in the east. I have always known of and rather strongly perceived it's existence (INFJ personality that I am), but most Westerners do not recognize it. It is a person's inner spirit and emotional balance, plus something quite ineffable. This is how Koreans determine who they will be friends with and who they will not be friends with. Esther has a beautiful gi; this makes her a beautiful woman to me. Her external beauty is only enhanced by her internal beauty, and, though she is in her mid-thirties, I hope some man recognizes her for the gem that she is.

I ran into Esther at the gym tonight in the changing room. I have officially given up on modesty for practical reasons; without thinking much about it, I removed my sports bra and changed into my street bra. We struck up a conversation and continued our changing. As I threw my rather ratty sweater over my head, she suddenly said, "You look so glamorous!"
Confused, I asked her what she meant, and she pointed to my chest.
"Big!" she said. "I wish I have bigger."
"Too big!" I protested. "Backache."
She then pointed to my sports bra. Koreans do not wear them because they do not need them.
"Very small?"
"Yes. Tight. Strap 'em down."
"Ah....Excersise hurt, yes?" She mimicked jumping up and down.
"Yes."
An enlightened grin spread over her expressive face. I then regaled her with a story of a well-endowed college acquaintance of mine, who was a bit of a jokester. This person used to amuse us with placing a cup (or shot glass) in her ample bosom, then proceeding to drink it. She also used to balance plates. Esther hooted with laughter over this story.

On a personal note, I am finally getting used to Korean bluntness. Although it still manages to shock me on occasion, I no longer get annoyed. Every situation is humorous if you look at it in the right way.

JOURNAL: Korean Torture Device

2006-03-08T20:56:00.000+08:00

"One of the nicer aspects of Koreans is that they are not raised to feel that displays of emotion are a weakness [. . .]they can be embarassingly earthy and blunt. If you have an ugly spot on your nose, the English and Japanese will politely pretend it's not there. The Korean will stick his finger in your face and inform you, 'Hey, you've got a spot.' As if he couldn't tell from the deep fingernail grooves around it that you already knew."
Michale Breen, British journalist in THE KOREANS: WHO THEY ARE, WHAT THEY WANT, WHERE THEIR FUTURE LIES (2004)

On Saturday, March 11, I will be turning the corner of "the age that dares not give its name." Yes, folks, I will be what is euphemistically called "still young" but not "young"; this strikes me as rather like receiving a consolation prize for coming in second, or even third place. I do not have much of a career to brag about, and I did not get married, so I guess I am not so much a success, superficially at least. In Korean (and some conservative American) terms, I will now be officially an "old maid." Like hell.

Although I certainly do not LOOK like my age (good anti-aging genes from my mother's side!), I have begun noticing some of the not-so-good parts of getting a little older- namely, gravity. Yes, things are beginning to sag ever so slightly, but enough to make me look in the mirror and go "Ugghhh, when did THAT happen? And when, pray tell, did I begin to get spots of cellulute?" Granted, I am a bit overweight, although I have lost quite a bit of it since moving to an Asian country. Still, there is much room for improvement. I began contemplating this miserable state of things a few weeks ago, and decided to do something about it with my "bonus" for teaching extra classes. I joined a Korean gym.

Before my knee-wrenching accident a few years ago, I worked out pretty regularly with a personal trainer. I "bulked out," but did not actually lose much body fat or weight, like a sumo-wrestler. Many doctor visits later, I found out my metabolism was sluggish but not slow enough for medication; furthermore, my Northern Eurpoean genes were predisposed to store fat (long, cold winters) rather than lose fat. It is a losing battle; the best I can hope for is stamina and strength. My accident prevented me from seriously working out, so I was pretty stuck.

Since moving to Korea, I have regained strength in my injured limb. I walk 40 minutes round trip to work and back everyday, and, except for occasional "Golden Arch" splurges, I eat a relatively Asian diet (except for the fish!). I have lost about 10 pounds and gone down one full size in clothes. Still it is not enough.

There is a gym about half a block from my apartment; my neighbor and co-worker works out there and took me to see it. It was very basic and small; just a smattering of machines and freeweights in the center of the room. Pounding pump-you-up music blared from the ceiling, and my coworker said the only annoying thing about this place was that they play the same CD over and over again. I was amused to note that old body building posters (circa 1980) were still plastered to the wall, and, more intriguingly, included several bulked-up Caucasian women. There were also some machines that I did not recognize, at least, not until I saw them in use. More on that later. The machines were in excellent working order, and the place was very clean. The on-duty manager spoke very limited English, but was reasonably polite, if a bit apathetic. I got the impression that he would have had a cigarette dangling from his lips had it been permitted (gyms are the only smoke-free zones in Korea, as far as I know). The lighting was a bit dim for my taste, but other than that, I liked the place. It had character. The price was very reasonable, and I indicated to the clerk on duty that I would consider it.

About halfway home from work (overlooking the McDonald's) is another gym, fairly new and modern. I am not really into fancy gyms, and had always assumed that this was one of the yuppie-expensive places. Even so, many of my coworkers go there and rave about it, so I made a visit there. I usually dread the fancier gyms because most people (coworkers included) don't NEED as much body work as I do. I learned that foreigners from our school get a good discount; for six months, we pay 300,000 Won ($295). I decided to make a visit.

Immediately upon entering, I was impressed. The girls at the desk spoke reasonable English, and were more than happy to help me. I removed my shoes (remember this is Asia) and was shown to a pair of slippers to wear while I made the tour. You can only wear gym shoes in the facility, and then only in certain areas. A young man named Shawn showed me around a bit; his English was also better than average. I noted that there were quite a variety of ages and body types in the room - fat ajumas and agashis (over 40 men and women), skinny teenagers, and young adults were all hard at work. There were quite a few Caucasian faces scattered among the clientele as well. I saw and greeted two of my coworkers, one of them with the perfect body type, the other more like me (also cursed with Northern European genes...but TALL!).

The gym was well-lit and relatively clutter-free. There were more choices of machines than at the first gym, some of which I had never seen before. I giggled as I saw a group of machines similar to the ones in the first gym. In the early 20th century, man invented a machine that more or less did excersise for the client. One put the fat-affected part in a loop of material, turned on a switch, and the belt vibrated hard and violently to shake the fat away. I had never seen one of these in person before. They were a popular item, and I immediately began to wonder about the integrity of the fitness instructors. Then, as I went closer, I observed, written in English, "body massager." Oh. Never people to waste an idea, the Koreans had simply adapted obsolete ideas to modern wholistic medicine.

An area had been set aside for floor work with a comfy but firm mat. I observed people doing stretches, yoga, pilates (they had the pilate ball available) and other types of strengthening excersises there. One of the more amusing "floor toys" in use was an oversized hula hoop. This is no ordinary hula hoop, oh no; this is a WEIGHTED hula hoop. I am guessing that the purpose of using this monster is to whittle away at one's sometimes well-buried waist, as I saw several plump matrons using it freely. ALthough I doubt it works for the intended purpose, it must strengthen SOME part of the body in that region. The old jump-rope standby was also a popular toy. A little bit later, they cleared the floor, and Shawn began a stretch class. In America, these sorts of classes are usually only attended by the older generations; here, all ages do these excersises.

Two days later I joined JNB Sports. The price was only $100 more than the first gym, and I figured I would have a better chance of staying motivated. One of the biggest selling points was that I would not have to do laundry (remember, I have no dryer). The gym provides a uniform for clients. Girls receive a grey and orange shirt with navy shorts; boys get turquiose blue and black shirts with black shorts. They are form-fitting but not skin-tight, and make everyone look good (except orange is not my color). They are laundered for you; you turn them into a clothes hamper after you work out. Towels, toiletries, and a footlocker are also provided.

On my first day, with some trepidation, I entered the locker room. About ten naked Korean women turned and glanced at me, then went back to their primping, much to my relief. Usually, when I walk into a room, everyone stares. One older woman did not stop staring however, so I gave her my most charming smile before proceeding to my locker. It amazed me how free and easy the women were about doing things in the nude. I saw women drying their hair, putting on makeup, or just sitting and talking, all without any sort of clothing. Now, I am used to working with theatre folks, so this is not too traumatic for me, but even theatre folk cover up to do their makeup! For myself, however, well, I am rather modest.

I chose a dark corner and began to undress. To my considerable annoyance, my bra strap got hung up somehow. I stepped into the central area where there was light and a mirror, and heroically fought with the hook. Suddenly, the hook gave way, but I was not touching it at the moment. The staring ajuma had come to my aid and unhooked me, then patted my on the shoulder. I was both startled and touched by her gesture. Her action was not unnnoticed, however, and the staring began. The staring was more out of curiosity than animosity, but I was feeling a bit unstrung. "Yes, I have BOOBS!" I wanted to shout, but refrained from doing so. Instead, I stared back.

All of those men who have Asian body-type fantasies out there, forget it! You are delusional. Just like Westerners, there are skinny women, plump women, mosquito bites and modestly proportioned saggy-udders. Korean women do not have curvy or defined hips either, but strangely enough, Korean men do. They women also do not have strongly-defined muscles. My curves are what attracted attention, rather than my weight, I discovered. Blue eyes and blonde hair didn't hurt either. The one common thing that all the women had was....CELLULITE! Lots and lots of cellulite, even on the skinny ones. I suspect this has to do with a high carb (noodles, rice, etc.)/ low protein diet. It also explains the "body massager" phenomenon!

I noted that there was a communal shower where you could use the conventional wall mounted unit, or you could choose to powerwash your neighbor with a green rubber hose. Women also will soap and scrub each other down. I have yet to use the shower there, as I know my, er, other parts, will be stared at freely and openly. I am not ready for that yet.

The uniform fit me nicely, and I emerged from the locker room. I went upstairs to the trainer's office, and was met by a tall, rather dark (Koreans are usually light-skinned) and handsome man. He opened his mouth, and I received a bit of a surprise. Now, some of my students have lived in America, New Zealand, the U.K., or Australia, so I am used to hearing different accents coming out of Korean schoolchildren's mouths. When a new student "How are y'all today"s, it is cute and funny. When a grown Korean man speaks to you in strongly accented Australian English, it is damn sexy! Alas, he is too young, and occupied territory (though not sold!). We hit it off immediately, and I decided I was going to like him.

"John" spoke excellent English, and took me right into the office. He put me on a machine to take my weight, height, body fat (sigh), and various other blah blah blah. After a few moments, it spit out a lengthy report, wherupon John began to explain the medically-termed data (it was in English, but a little dense). I have lost some weight, but am still dangerously close to being termed "obese," (38 BFI)although I do not look like it. I DO have the same bone structure and height as a Korean woman (I had noticed this before). My upper body is still well-toned and strong; my lower body is shot to perdition however. No surprises there. My body fat, he bluntly told me, was mainly belly fat and lower; this is a dangerous type of fat. I also have some swelling and I am retaining some water (I did not mention that I was on my period at the time; perhaps I should have said something). I also knew this, but again, it was not obvious externally, it was more a feeling.

As of now, I am on a strict regime of 70 minute of cardio each day for about two months. I hate it with a passion (hampster on a wheel) but I need to drop some body fat (roughly about 6 pounds) before I can begin weight traning again. I will "bulk up" and look worse if I start too soon. I also take a stretch class every night for 40 minutes. I like that part, even though it is conducted in Korean. The trainers are very "hands on." If they don't think you are working hard enough, they will physically correct you.

Last week, I got a little lazy on the bike. John came by to check on me. He began questioning me a bit and chit-chatting. I was very polite and slowed down a bit to answer him (as I was breathing hard). After a few minutes of this, he quietly informed me that if I was really working hard, I wouldn't be able to carry on much of a conversation. My fury and my embarassment fueled me pretty quickly through THAT workout, but I knew I deserved it.

The stretch class is not for wimps either. I struggled at first because I couldn't understand the instructions. I know my numbers, but that is about it. I watched people carefully, but sometimes missed the "in between" instructions. The trainers walk around on the mat, and physically correct those who are doing it wrong; I seemed to be a good target for the first few days. If my knee popped up during a stretch, for example, someone would come by and gently but firmly press it into place...and hold it there. When stretching forward, Shawn grabbed my hands, pulled me like taffy, and told me to breathe into it. To my surprise, I went further than I thought I could without too much discomfort. It is very odd to be touched by a stranger, but I like this approach to fitness. I can FEEL the difference between the wrong and the right way now. I am getting the hang of things, though my balance is still horrible. You are not allowed to NOT do an excersise; you have to do them all. Now, when we get to that part of the routine, one of the trainers automatically extends his arm for me to grab onto. It is humiliating, but I am trying my best. I hope it gets better.

John is turning out to be a decent human being. He is definately Australian in his outlook, which is a refreshing change. I do not have to censor what I say too much; he is used to Aussie women! He is intelligent and is still in university (I think); in other words, not a dumb jock. I can't stand jock attitudes! The other clientele are polite, though they do still stare sometimes. The "regulars" do not stare anymore, which helps.

In Memorium: Eulogy for My Grandmother (1910-2005)

2006-03-06T23:15:00.000+08:00

Below I have posted the eulogy for my Grandmother; today, March 7, is the one year anniversary of her passing. She was a much loved lady, and lived a full and rich life.

Eulogy for Rose Chipps
March 12, 2005
by Rebecca Eagleson
Rose Christina Hansen Chipps was born December 11, 1910 in Wallbach (WAHL-BACK), Nebraska to Peter and Johanna Marie Hansen. Rose was the middle daughter; she had an older sister, Seena, and a younger sister, Ella. Her parents were members of a Danish community, and she spoke Danish until she began formal schooling at age five. She spent the majority of her childhood and girlhood on a farm, and, even in her advanced years, retained memories of some of the major and minor events of the decade. Grandma once told me a story about herself and her sister Seena staying up one New Year’s Eve, breathlessly anticipating the arrival of the year 1919. My brother, Andrew, was absolutely delighted to hear that Grandma remembered Kaiser Wilhelm. She also spoke of the troops coming home from WWI by train through St. Louis.
Sadly, Rose and her sisters lost both of their parents while young teenagers. Rose graduated from high school as Valedictorian, and at age seventeen, began to teach at a small country school. She taught for two years before beginning college at Kearny State Teacher’s college in Kearny, NE. In 1932, she met her future husband Larry Chipps. In 1933, they were married in the Methodist pastor‘s house, attended only by the cleaning maid and the pastor’s wife.
I once asked Grandma about how she met grandfather, and it is worth noting her response. She told me rather vaguely that they met in teacher’s college, but, as I later found out, there was more to the story than that. Apparently, Larry Chipps was what was known back then as “diffident,” or shy, and Sister Ella’s beau decided to set them up on a blind date. At this time, Rose was a very beautiful woman, but also very tall. Larry was so flustered when he saw her that Ella’s beau had to give Larry a push up the stairs as Rose was coming down the stairs.
I asked Grandma later why she married Larry, as he was so shy and quiet.
With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she responded, “Well, he just kept on coming, and I sorta got used to him!”
The Depression was on in their early married life, and as a result, Rose never finished college. Larry and Rose both began teaching school. One particularly desperate summer, the newlyweds lived in a tent, while Larry worked for the W.P.A . For dinner, he shot pheasants, geese, and possums. The Chipps’s began their family in 1939, and in 1940, they purchased a farm in Ewing, NE. They had two sons and two daughters. First came Ron, then Lyle, then Linda (my mother), and finally, Macrayla. Rose was always a hard worker, active in both the community and on the farm. She held a position with the Ladies Aide Society and also as a Sunday School teacher. In 1956, the Chipps’s sold the farm, and headed West to California.
Life became rather lively for the Chipps family in California, as the children were now in their teen years. Rose managed to hold down a job as a duplex manager as well as assist Larry with his maintenance business. Time passed, and her children grew into young adulthood. In the 1960s, her children began to leave the nest and acquire spouses. Rose then found a new job that she loved. At Alum Rock Covenant Church, where she attended up until her death, Rose began to teach the two and three year old children their Sunday School lessons. This position gave her great delight and much pleasure; she dearly loved the children that she taught. She held this position until she was well into her seventies, when she reluctantly gave it up.
In the 1970s, the grandchildren began to come, all within six years. They are, in chronological order, Dendra, Rebecca, Chris, Carlos, and Andrew. It was, once again, a lively house when the grandchildren came to visit as we were so close in age. Of course, this also meant that we collectively found mischief, and grandma was always there to patch us up and sooth our bruises. I recall that one night, I was sleeping in the “bouncy bed,” which was popular with the grandkids because it was spring-loaded, and there was a rather strong earthquake. I was a very tiny child, so I was easily tossed off the bed and smashed face first into the hard-wood floor. I cut my chin pretty badly, and grandma rather stoically cleaned me up and put me back to bed. Grandma always had a way of soothing the unquiet minds of little children; I expect it was because of her long experience teaching. There was always a generous supply of cookies, and let’s not forget her famous apple pie. She was always a “hostess by stealth,” preferring to sit back and let other people talk while she beamed quietly in the corner.
One of Grandma’s most favorite days was on a fine August day in 1983. As the Chipps’s had never had a formal wedding reception, the family got together a large 50th wedding anniversary celebration. There were friends and family attending from years back, and there was even a large wedding cake. Grandma always cherished this event, and kept a picture of her and her husband on her mantelpiece, taken on this momentous day. Three years later, Larry passed away, and Rose began the next epoch of her life.
In these last years, Rose lived alone in the family house on Golf Drive, taking much pleasure in working in the garden, attending church, and keeping house. A stub-tailed cat named Katie adopted Rose, and became her resident lap-warmer and entertainer. She received regular visits from children, grandchildren, and church members. Her daughter, Macrayla Evans, visited her daily on her lunch breaks from work to make sure she was doing well and eating properly. She also lived with Rose for a short time. Over the years, Rose became increasingly forgetful and absent-minded, but never forgot those grandkids! In February of 2004, Rose’s first great-grandchild, Alyssa Chipps, was born to Chris and Shannon Chipps.
In the 1990s, Linda moved out of state. Macrayla and Ron began to care for Mom, helping her with yardwork and other duties around the house. Macrayla took her grocery shopping, and later on, when Rose’s strength began to fail, did the shopping for her. Ron left for New Mexico, and Macrayla took over all of Rose’s care. She commuted from Modesto to San Jose for her job and checked daily on Rose. It would be a stressful time for both Mac and Grandma, as Grandma was increasingly unaware of how much help she needed. Mac tried all methods known to mankind to make sure that Grandma took her medications on schedule, but grandma would miss whole days because she was so forgetful. Mac would set up doctor’s appointments only to find out later that Rose had cancelled them when the office called to remind her of her appointments; Mac often took off time from work to take her to appointments. Mac bought her new clothes, but Mom would refuse to wear them and hide them away. Rose would wear things until they were beyond worn out, so Mac learned to throw things out or hide the old things in the garbage so that Rose would not find them. One day, Grandma fell in front of her house, and the neighbors called the paramedics. Grandma had a bruised face and a black eye, but did not remember the fall. Linda would make visits from Wisconsin to give Mac some relief, but this at times confused Rose even more and made her more fractious after Linda had left.
In late 1999, the family determined that Rose could use permanent live-in assistance, and Linda, her daughter, and Jim, her son-in-law, sold their house in Wisconsin and moved in to care for her. I soon joined them. I truly enjoyed hearing all her old stories and the process of getting to know the quiet hostess who had cared for us all as children. It was only fitting that we should do the same for her.
In the autumn of 2004, Rose suffered a bad fall which left her hospitalized. When she came home, a series of wonderful homecare workers came into her life, doing all the little things for her and providing daily and nightly assistance in matters beyond the scope of the family’s expertise. In December, she suffered a stroke, and was placed in a rehabilitation facility. At Plum Tree, she was the resident trivia champion. She was then transferred to Crescent Villa, where she spent her final days.
Rose thrived at Crescent Villa; her last two months were filled with a miraculous rejuvenation of sorts. She enjoyed all the people and health care workers there, and they enjoyed her every bit as much. Her sense of humor reemerged, even though she was wheelchair-bound now, and unable to get around without assistance. The night before her final stroke, she was eating dinner, and one of the C.N.A.s noticed that she was touching her mouth frequently. When Priti, the C.N.A., went over to investigate, she found out that Rose was wiggling a loose tooth. Rose looked up at Priti from her wheelchair, and said, “If I put it under my pillow, do you think I’ll get some money?” The two of them then began to hoot with laughter.
Grandma’s last days were spent with family members and friends surrounding her bedside. Although bed-ridden and unable to speak, Rose intently listened to those around her. Pastor Jon, his wife Pat, and I entertained her by singing the old hymns that she loved so well, as well as some of the old Irish ballads that Grandpa used to sing. Grandma always loved music and having people around her. She most enjoyed the times when family and friends would chatter back and forth.
One night, after everyone had left, Dendra and I stayed with her to keep vigil, knowing that her life on earth would soon come to a close. We were laughing and chatting softly, or so I thought, when suddenly we realized that she was awake and alert. We told her funny stories, and, although she couldn’t speak, she smiled often and watched us whenever we moved around the room. She even took a few spoonfuls of food. This was the last time we saw her conscious.
On Monday, March 7, 2005, Rose passed away quietly and peacefully at 3:10 in the afternoon. It was the first fine spring day after weeks of rain, a fitting day for the passing of a woman who loved to be outside so much.

PHOTO: Where I Spend Most of My Time...

2006-02-20T21:19:00.000+08:00

Uh Oh!

Yes, you read that right. This joint is directly behind Cafe Pacucci in Gangnam, a well-to-do district of Seoul known for its night life. The "face" on the Man-in-the-Moon is not really a face, but the Korean word "ddong" (shit). I am not sure how that got by the censors.

JOURNAL: Lunar Month

2006-02-15T21:33:00.000+08:00

LUNAR MONTH
On Sunday, I got a unique experience to participate in a Korean tradition. The oldest member of our church invited a select few of us to her house for dinner. I felt truly blessed by this, as I much admire Miss K, and had been forced to back out of another one of her dinner parties at an earlier time. The back out was last minute, and I had truly felt awful, even considering that the circumstances had been beyond my control. This time, I made a point to clear my day so I could keep my engagement.

Miss K is a truly remarkable human being, and I would love to sit down and interview her sometime. She is probably in her seventies or eighties, but she is still as sharp as a tack. Her conversation is witty and bright, with occasional flashes of light sarcasm. She is a retired Art Professor from Seoul National University, one of the most prestigious universities in Korea. She was born in Japan, but I believe she said her family was from North Korea. Therein lies a story I am certain, seeing as the relations between Korea and Japan around the time of her probable childhood and girlhood were not particularly good, to say the least. She then moved to the United States for a time, where her children were born, and still live. She goes to visit them every chance she gets.

Miss K's apartment has a beautiful view, through picture windows, over Olympic Park. Her unframed artwork occupies every possible wall space; her work focuses mostly on flowers and still lifes, with an occasional touch of folk"ish" art. Her palatte tends towards cooler colors. I enjoyed looking around. The apartment was rather spacious, for Seoul, especially; I think she probably had a whole floor to herself. The decor and spacing made the place feel "arty," but not "hippy." Everything was beautifully laid and tastefully displayed. I also scanned her bookcase, which was chock full of artbooks in English and other languages. This was not a monument to Miss K, but a comfortable place for her to live in. I hope that I have a place like this someday.

Miss K had actually skipped church to make dinner for us, a fact which was not lost on any of us coming from there. The way Korean Christians are raised is roughly equivalent to the way the Puritans raised their children. It is not faith unless you sacrifice your comfort, your desires, and your sleep; this is the Will of God, and nothing in your life will happen if God doesn't will it. Calvinism at its finest, and most exasperating. Fortunately, not everyone follows this, or I would never stay at that church.

Miss K had laid out a delectable selection of appetizers. The most recognizeable were the sterotypical nut mix, but there were others I had to ask about. There was a pale white lacy vegetable, which I at first took to be some kind of sliced and dried tomato. Avoiding it at first (I am allergic to tomatoes), I finally asked about it. It was lotus root, dried and sliced; very tasty and enjoyable. The other item which I finally tried were glazed mushrooms coated with sesame. To my surprise, the mushrooms were glazed with honey. Oddly, it worked, as many unusual combinations seem to do in Asia. The best items, however, were the cream cheese and crab(?) filled biscuits.

Miss K worked away in the kitchen, Korean-style, while her guests enjoyed the good food. Finally, she called us into a small room where there were many dishes laid out. Miss K explained to us that the dishes fell into two categories, old and new. It is Korean tradition to eat these dishes on the first full moon after the New Year. There were vegetable dishes, grain dishes, a chicken breast dish, and a pork and radish dish. The "old" dishes tended towards dark in color, and were heavily pickled or cooked. The "new" dishes were lighter in color, and more "raw" than cooked. The old dishes represent the year that has ended, and the "new" dishes represent the new year. The grain dishes have a particular significance, but Miss K dismissed it as "superstition" without really gonig into too much detail.

The "old" vegetable dish consisted of a stringy, and as I later found out, tough, pickled vegetables vaguely related to collard greens in flavor. I tried to chew them, but discovered they could only be swallowed whole. Pity I didn't figure this out until I took a sizeable bite...I almost choked, as this vegetable had rather sharp angles to it; I suspect it is related to nettles. The "new" dish was much more palatable, and had quite a bit of sweet and sour flavor. The grain dishes were, well, grainy, especially the lightly cooked rice (still a bit dry and raw). The pork and Asian (yellow)radish dish was the most delicious confection; again, sweet and sour. There was not one over-spicy dish.

As we were feasting, Miss K disappeared into the kitchen again. She emerged later with the ubiquitous bean curd and soft tofu soup. This is one of my favorite dishes in all Korea, and hers was homemade. It was a little spicy, but the flavors of the vegetables were not overpowered. It was wonderful.

Miss K finally joined us. We ate American style with individual plates and Western silverware. One of the dinner guest was talking about her family in Nova Scotia. She said she was one of nine children, and that her father was one of EIGHTEEN children. Miss K said she supposed they didn't know about birth control. She did not mean it to be witty; she was just stating a fact. I was the only "single" present at the table; usually this means Koreans censor what they say to avoid offending my modesty. Not Miss K!

We were served persimmon gelato for dessert, as well as strawberries and cream. The last item she called "fusion food"! She also served a mildly alcoholic punch and a sweetened tea. I had to leave a bit early for a previous engagement, but I wished I could have stayed longer. She clasped my hand in both of hers, and beamed warmly up at me. I could feel her life energy flowing through her warm hands into my cold palm, and I was very reluctant to go. She is truly a gem, a jeweltone.

Some people have asked about my email address, "jeweltone," and what it means. It is the word I use to describe what I hope to be someday. People who live their lives in bright, neon colors flare brightly and burn quickly. The dazzle, shimmer, and scream for people to notice them, but hurt the eyes when gazed upon for too great a time.

People who live their life in pastels fade into obscurity and quiet despair. They are the wallflowers, the quiet workers. They hide in the light for fear of the the dark. No one notices them.

The jeweltones, however, are not too brilliant, and not too quiet; they live rich, full, and eventful lives. The shine, but not to show off their accomplishements. They shine to lend warmth to the neons, and compassion to the pastels. They embrace all aspects of life, both the beautiful and the putrid. It takes both dark and light to make a jeweltone shine. Remember that all jewels began life in the bowels of the earth! They are raised out of the ground, culled and shaped by a craftsman, and faceted by their experiences. What is a facet but a dent or a cutting away? Remember, even impurities can lend a special beauty to a diamond or a ruby.

RAMDOM QUOTE OF THE DAY:
(on teenagers)

"Cal's trying to find himself," said Lee. "I guess this personal hide-and-seek is not unusual. And some people are 'it' all their lives - hopelessly 'it.'"
John Steinbeck, EAST OF EDEN

PHOTO: Snowy Olympic Park

2006-02-09T21:10:00.000+08:00

Snowy Olympic Park

2006-02-09T21:07:00.001+08:00

Olympic Park Close-Up

PHOTO: Poor Puppy!

2006-02-09T21:07:00.000+08:00

Cold Dog

This is a photo of Huindong (. The dog was pretty cold, but taking it like a sport...He was not being very cooperative about looking at the camera however; these were the best shots I could get. He just wanted lots of attention and warmth...he was shivering because of the cutting wind.

2006-02-09T21:06:00.000+08:00

Huindong

NOTE: Cyber - weirdness

2006-02-09T20:55:00.000+08:00

Due to something in my blogging program I do not understand, my new post was moved to 1/26/06. It was a "continued/saved" post that I just finished. You can view it at that date.

2006-02-02T21:58:00.000+08:00

Aphra Behn

NOTES: From the Poetess

2006-02-02T21:31:00.000+08:00

I was going to comment on the war of the sexes tonight, seeing as I have had some disappointments in the past couple of months in this regard. I have found what I want, but it has been taken from me. Instead of bemoaning my own fate, however, I will let the 17th century Restoration-era poetess express it for me.

Aphra Behn, for those of you who are not up on your "dorky lit. major" knowledge, was a vibrant, talented, and outspoken playwright, poet, and novelist. She was also, in her spare time, a spy for England, and for her efforts landed in debtor's prison when the king decided he didn't need to pay her. Mrs. Behn used her witty pen to raise her bail money, and in doing so, upset the flagrantly misogynist male authors of her time by offering a female perspective on the war of the sexes. So, I will let her speak for me, and all women who have been blighted by love:

ON DESIRE

by: Aphra Behn

HAT art thou, oh! thou new-found pain?
From what infection dost thou spring?
Tell me -- oh! tell me, thou enchanting thing,
Thy nature, and thy name;
Inform me by what subtle art,
What powerful influence,
You got such vast dominion in a part
Of my unheeded, and unguarded, heart,
That fame and honour cannot drive ye thence.

Oh! mischievous usurper of my peace;
Oh! soft intruder on my solitude,
Charming disturber of my ease,
That hast my nobler fate pursued,
And all the glories of my life subdued.

Thou haunt'st my inconvenient hours;
The business of the day, nor silence of the night,
That should to cares and sleep invite,
Can bid defiance to thy conquering powers.

Where hast thou been this live-long age
That from my birth till now,
Thou never cloudst one thought engage,
Or charm my soul with the uneasy rage
That made it all its humble feebles know?

Where wert thou, oh, malicious sprite,
When shining honour did invite?
When interest called, then thou wert shy,
Nor to my aid one kind propension brought,
Nor wouldst inspire one tender thought,
When Princes at my feet did lie.

When thou couldst mix ambition with my joy,
Thou peevish phantom thou wert nice and coy,
Not beauty could invite thee then
Nor all the hearts of lavish men!
Not all the powerful rhetoric of the tongue
Not sacred wit could charm thee on;
Not the soft play that lovers make,
Nor sigh could fan thee to a fire,
Not pleading tears, nor vows could thee awake,
Or warm the unformed something -- to desire.

Oft I've conjured thee to appear
By youth, by love, by all their powers,
Have searched and sought thee everywhere,
In silent groves, in lonely bowers:
On flowery beds where lovers wishing lie,
In sheltering woods where sighing maids
To their assigning shepherds hie,
And hide their bushes in the gloom of shades.
Yet there, even there, though youth assailed,
Where beauty prostrate lay and fortune wooed,
My heart insensible to neither bowed:
Thy lucky aid was wanting to prevail.

In courts I sought thee then, thy proper sphere
But thou in crowds were stifled there,
Interest did all the loving business do,
Invites the youths and wins the virgins too.
Or if by chance some heart the empire own
(Ah power ingrate!) the slave must be undone.

Tell me, thou nimble fire, that dost dilate
Thy mighty force through every part,
What god, or human power did thee create
In me, till now, unfacile heart?
Art thou some welcome plague sent from above
In this dear form, this kind disguise?
Or the false offspring of mistaken love,
Begot by some soft thought that faintly strove,
With the bright piercing beauties of Lysander's eyes?

Yes, yes, tormenter, I have found thee now;
And found to whom thou dost thy being owe,
'Tis thou the blushes dost impart,
For thee this languishment I wear,
'Tis thou that tremblest in my heart
When the dear shepherd does appear,
I faint, I die with pleasing pain,
My words intruding sighing break
When e'er I touch the charming swain
When e'er I gaze, when e'er I speak.
Thy conscious fire is mingled with my love,
As in the sanctified abodes
Misguided worshippers approve
The mixing idol with their gods.
In vain, alas! in vain I strive
With errors, which my soul do please and vex,
For superstitions will survive,
Purer religion to perplex.

Oh! tell me you, philosophers, in love,
That can its burning feverish fits control,
By what strange arts you cure the soul,
And the fierce calenture remove?

Tell me, ye fair ones, that exchange desire,
How 'tis you hid the kindling fire.
Oh! would you but confess the truth,
It is not real virtue makes you nice:
But when you do resist the pressing youth,
'Tis want of dear desire, to thaw the virgin ice.
And while your young adorers lie
All languishing and hopeless at your feet,
Raising new trophies to your chastity,
Oh tell me, how you do remain discreet?
How you suppress the rising sighs,
And the soft yielding soul that wishes in your eyes?
While to th' admiring crowd you nice are found;
Some dear, some secret, youth that gives the wound
Informs you, all your virtue's but a cheat
And honour but a false disguise,
Your modesty a necessary bait
To gain the dull repute of being wise.

Deceive the foolish world -- deceive it on,
And veil your passions in your pride;
But now I've found your feebles on my own,
From me the needful fraud you cannot hide.
Though 'tis a mighty power must move
The soul to this degree of love,
And though with virtue I the world perplex,
Lysander finds the weakness of my sex,
So Helen while from Theseus' arms she fled,
To charming Paris yields her heart and bed.

JOURNAL: A Night at the Movies

2006-01-26T21:00:00.000+08:00

THE CINEMA
Over the holidays, in search of novelty, I decided that I would go to see a Chinese musical (subtitled in Korean). The muscial, oddly enough, was phonetically spelled, in Korean, as "Perhaps Love," and had been heavliy advertised on Korean television. My curiosity was piqued, so I made my first foray into solo movie going.

I entered the theatre and discovered that the lobby was packed. Not only that, but there were many, many lines to choose from. There was an autoticket machine (all in Korean), a line to the pick-up window, and a "take a number" system pertaining to one of the numerous line-choices. There were electronic marquees with movie times listed, as well as a number flashing next ot the time in green. When the number got below ten, it turned red. I finally figured out that this number corresponded to the number of tickets left. Very clever; they should adopt this in the United States to save a lot of headache.

With some trepidation, I approached the "Information" counter. The "Information" counters in most businesses has the title spelled out in English, however most of the time all of the written material is in Korean. It is also the luck of the draw as to whether the clerk will speak or understand English. This one did, and was able to point me to the right, and as it turned out, shortest, line.

I got my ticket quickly and cheaply. My seat row and number were clearly printed on my ticket, and the auditorium number was boldly marked so as not to leave any doubt. Apparently in Korea, they use the European system of cinema seating. I wandered around aimlessly in my attempt to find the auditorium; there were no obvious signs, and it was only fifteen minutes until showtime. I found a "you are here" map, but it was, of course, in Korean. I saw the numbers corresponding to the auditoriums, and went down a narrow hallway where people were seated, apparently waiting for their movies. The doors were not marked, but I could hear movie sounds from behind the doors. I counted off seven doors from the front, and sat down, waiting.

As I waited, one movie let out, and the crowd spilled into the hallway. Something seemed a little weird, so I tentatively asked an intellectual-looking woman in English where my movie was. She looked at my ticket, then pointed me down the hall and back where I came from. I followed her directions; in the lobby, I then noticed a group of people waiting on a "pretentious modern art" staircase built for no apparent purpose other than sitting. There was a woman taking tickets at the top, but strangely, no line. Now feeling like a complete idiot, I cautiously approached the ticket lady. She politely turned me away, and pointed to the electronic sign above her head. The sign finally flashed my movie five minutes before it began, and in an orderly fashion, we filed in.

The seats were wonderfully cushioned and large, with just one minor flaw - they were spaced like airline seats. Yes, I am talking knee-cap smacking, leg room crunching, airline seats. There was even the half an inch reclining room!

After the movie, in orderly fashion, we filed out. The seats by the window in the outer hallway offered a breathtaking view of the Olympic Bridge and the Han River. The movie had been beautiful and romantic, even if I had to go by myself.

NOTES: The SOS Kitchen

2006-01-18T21:38:00.000+08:00

I was going to blog about going to the movies in Korea, but I will save that for the next time.I have just had a very close call and I am pretty shaky. You see, Emerald Lady has discovered that she really cannot cook. The fresh burn marks and soot around the stove can heartily attest to this. Actually, I think it is God's sense of humor; I think the Sign was a little excessive, but it drove home the point. It all started with dead chickens.

On Monday, I left work at about 9:05 p.m., and hailed a taxi to get to E-mart before it closed at 10:00p.m. E-mart is Korea's answer to K-mart, but with a reasonably large supermarket in the basement. I don't like going there, as it is always crowded and a little messy, but it is cheap and close by. The supermarket is divided much like American supermarkets - dairy, meat, etc, but a little more pigeon-holed. Added to this are oversolicitous salespeople at each station, hawking their goods. They tend to be a little aggressive, so I have to shop by stealth to avoid notice; this is not easy, as I glow-in-the-dark. I just wait until they are busy with someone else, and take quick sneak peaks to find my item. But I digress.

I had to go get some other necessities, so I started on the fifth floor to get camera batteries. No one would wait on me. I moved on to the coffeemakers, and found one I really liked, but there were no more for sale. The "We are closing" message began blaring, so I quickly marched down to the market. I looked over towards the meat department and saw an opening. With elbows akimbo and eyes peeled, I bowled over to the poultry section. I saw ONE package of chicken breasts left, grabbed it, and then got in line. As I stood in line, I had second thoughts about my chickens. There was no noticeable date on the package, and in Korea they do not keep meat very cold in the markets. It looked ok, and didn't smell "off," but I was still a little nervous...I bought the meat anyway (for 5500 Won) and put it immediately in the freezer when I got home.

Tonight, I decided to cook it. I took the meat out, thawed it most of the way, and cubed it. The meat was two days old when I got it (marked Jan 14, 2006 under the wrapper) and, although there were some blood spots, I decided it was probably all right. I let the meat thaw some more in some water as I chopped up some garlic, ginger root, carrots and broccoli. I turned the gas burner on what I presumed to be medium because my recipe said to make the oil hot. I had used the recipe before, but it had taken forever to cook the chicken because the oil had not been hot enough. I tested the oil frequently until it was hot but not boiling. I should explain that my gas range is always a mystery, and has no markings for low, medium, or high. I usually cook things that BOIL, so it is generally not a problem. I stupidly assumed that the middle of the nob was medium. Therein was my mistake.

When the oil was reasonably hot, I tossed the chicken/garlic/ginger combo in the pan, and KABLAAMMM!!!!! Well, it wasn't quite kablaam, because I stepped back when a small flame suddenly appeared in the pan. I turned the heat off, and as I stepped away and went for the cupboard, hoping I had some salt, I heard a popping noise and then KABLAAMMMMM! Two foot..three foot..four foot tall flames shot out of the pan and up into the air in a volatile, but fortunately narrow, column. Oil was spattering everywhere, even landing on some utility bills lying three feet away on my little kitchen sideboard. Fortunately, they did not ignite. As I stared in horror at what I had done, a strange mixture of several thoughts went through my mind in that instant:

A) Will John (the office manager) dock my paycheck for setting my kitchen on fire?
B) What a stupid way to die.
C) Should I wake up Scott (my coworker/neighbor) and get help?
D) What a lousy wife I would make.
E) At least my hair is not on fire.

The fire extinguished itself very quickly without my help, which was quite fortunate, as I did not have salt or baking soda on hand. On reflection, it was probably the water from the not-quite-thawed out chicken that caused the fire. I stupidly though that since oil and water didn't mix, it wouldn't be a problem. Guess I was wrong.

I took the pan off the burner when I thought it was safe. Being Teflon, it is, of course, not damaged at all. There are soot stains on my walls, ceiling, and cupboards, but I think they will come off easily. The oil spatter, however, is going to be a bit of a headache to scape down. I considered trying to cook the meat again (which had never even made it to the pan, just the water), but decided that this was God's way of telling me the chicken was bad. Accordingly, I threw the whole mess in a recycling bag and put it out on the street.

So, the moral of the story? I don't know exactly what it is. Here are my NOTES:

I am a twenty-nine year old woman who cannot, for the life of her, master range-top cooking. Everything I make is overcooked or undercooked. All the cooking I know well requires an oven or a microwave, neither of which I have. Korea is a modern country in many ways, but the ajumas hold to their own ways of doing things, and I cannot discover the mysterious ways of coping with tempermental ranges. I have NEVER had to cook with oil; I always used PAM or margarine, neither of which are easily obtainable here.

Why can I not cook? Why did I never learn homestyle cooking? There is very little in the way of processed food here, so it is back to basics. But what exactly are the basics? Even in Home Ec. classes we took "shortcuts." This is a failing of my generation. I found myself silently resenting the time it took to cut up garlic, carrots, and ginger, then laughed at myself for being so lazy. Well, maybe lazy isn't the word - I had worked a full and difficult day (looking after other people's kids) and just want something to be "easy." How do soccer moms do it?

Items B and D really rankle with me, because it is true that, for better or worse, women have to cook. I hate cooking, hate cleaning, and hate doing housework. I would rather be out in the world among people. I have never lived with a man, but those who have tell me they do all of these things and more...without even a ring sometimes for their efforts. Even with a ring, the thought is still distasteful. I guess it is necessary though. I don't know...

I do try to improve my cooking skills in fits and starts, but this one could have killed me! Trooper that I am (some would call it obstinate), I was all ready to try again...until I saw all the oil splatter, and decided oil and natural gas from my range probably were not a very good combo either. So, I am sitting here, eating an orange, a few pieces of candy from my "visitor" jar, and contemplating getting up to make a PBJ...How pathetic, I sound like a bachelor!

I still have the untouched broccoli and carrots in my refrigerator, so tomorrow, I plan to go and get some FRESH chicken to try again (after I degrease the range). I think I will buy a microwave this weekend, expensive though it may be.

So, any of you church ladies (or gentlemen?) out there reading my blog know how to cook with oil without setting the kitchen on fire? I could use some good advice or basic recipes that can be made (without margarine or PAM) on a glorified hotplate...

JOURNAL: New Year's Eve Part II

2006-01-12T20:49:00.000+08:00

The next day was December 31st, and I decided to show my brother some of the sights around town. Even though it is against my principles to cater to tourist traps,
I took him to Itaewon to get his custom-tailored suit made. He first bought a nice leather jacket, which he believed made him look like a 1970s mobster (it did, especially with his black beanie!). The lady at the shop got it altered for him, and gave him a good deal because she thought he was cute.

At the tailor shop we chose, the tailor turned out to be exceptionally good. He broguht out a beatiful grey wool-cashmere blend fabric from deep within a pile of lengths; the fact that he did this told me that he really liked us, because true artists are picky as to who they will sell their services to. The quality of fabric was truly remarkable. He then called in the ladies, who had great fun measuring my brother's broad shoulders and large girth. One of the ladies playfully lay her head against his back, saying, "Oooo, so strong!" My brother is completely oblivious to this sort of thing, but I was highly amused at the flutter he made with the ladies. If he had played his cards right, I later thought, he might have gotten an even better discount.

We then went to the U.S. Army Base to check out the comissary. We bought Cheerios and that was about it. We then headed towards Seoul Tower, which had just re-opened. We hiked up a long hill from the subway, and stood at the foot of the cable car lift. The line was very long and slow-moving, and we fast grew impatient. I saw some paved stairs cut into the mountain (Mt. Namsan), and as they appeared to lead straight to the Tower, foolishly suggested we take them up the mountain. What the brush and trees hid was hundreds and hundreds of stairs, switch-backs, and steep inclines. It took about an hour to reach the top, and by that time, my knee was in bad shape. The wait to go up the elevator turned out to be an hour and a half, so we wearily resolved to come back another day.

We stopped at a small hof with a lovely view on our way down. The food was a rather interesting blend of East meets West. The "pork cutlet" was heavily breaded with a ketchup sauce carelessly sprinkled over it. The salad was drowning in an interesting blend of mustard and thousand island dressing, and included lettuce, cherries, and some sort of cabbage. There was also the ubiquitous kimchi.

We then saw that the line for returning by cable car was shorter. We took it down the mountain side, even though it was dark and we couldn't see much. We returned to my apartment and rested before the big shindig downtown...

At 9:15 p.m., we took the subway to Jongguk where the festivities were being held. It is Seoul tradition for certain citizens, elected by the city, to ring the Jonggak bell. It is a large heavy bell that has been restored and replaced where it was before the Japanese tried to blow it up. The bell is hit from the side by an enormous battering ram; the ram is suspended by ropes from teh ceiling of the pagoda and guided by thirteen people to hit the bell. The bell is rung 33 times on the New Year because 33 is a lucky number. This is, for Seoul, Time Square and the drop of the ball.

As we walked through the underground, we saw to our dismay that there were police guarding all of the exits and not letting people pass. We walked and walked, and as we neared the last few exits, a noticeable smell of gunpowder permeated the hallways. I nervously wondered if someone had gotten "creative" with the firecrackers in the underground. Finally, they let us go out exit 12, and as we emerged, all hell broke loose.

As I peered through the heavy smoke and covered my nose, I saw shooting stars of fire exploding noisily in the air. I had never seen this type of firework before, and the imp that lives in the back of my head began singing "And the rocket's red glare/The bombs bursting in air." As soon as I could see clearly, I noticed that the shooting fire was coming from long sticks held in peoples' hands. There were thousands of people holding these noisy and dangerous toys, and I found myself dodging more than once. So what were these fire sticks? Well, they are items that have been banned in most places of the United States for many years (hence why I had never seen them). These, I learned, were Roman candles.

As I contemplated my new knowledge, I noticed that there were men hurriedly unloading boxes of these scary torches. No money appeared to be changing hands; I later learned that most of them were compliments of the Seoul Metropolitan Government! That shows an incredible trust in the public I think. Can you imagine that happening in New York, a smaller city? I began to relax when I realized that most people knew how to handle these things. No one got hurt that night, which, given the crush of people, is amazing. Then, a random stranger pressed one into my brother's hand and lit it! My brother hurriedly stuck it up in the air like he was the Statue of Liberty ,whereupon it began to emit fireballs at the sky. The man tried to give me one, but I absolutely refused to take it. He shrugged and handed it to his next victim ... a little kid.

There were large screens showing events near the bell itself, and, like an idiot, I joined the crowd watching the screen. I noted the police barricade, and drew closer. I got transfixed by the screen, then suddenly realized the crowd was moving and I was moving with it. My hands were, once again, pinned to my sides, and people began to press me in from all directions. I took a deep breath, girding myself for a battle to get out, and a disembodied arm slammed right into my belly. I exhaled in shock, and then panicked when I could't take anouther deep breath. I felt an increasingly intense pressure on my back, my sides, and my front as I battled for air and space. I couldn't see my feet or lower torso, as I am about average height for a Korean. I could only see ahead. I let the crowd carry me for awhile as my much taller brother battled to get me out of there. We came to the sidewalk, and I found the curb with my toe. I took a leap of faith and a blind guess as to how high the curb was, and only stumbled a little. Finally, I was free.

The fireworks were still going on over my head; even more people came as midnight approached. Some traditional drummers wove in and out of the less crowded areas, festively frolicking and banging their native drums. They were in street clothes, but the crowd enjoyed their antics. I recognized some of the drum beats and movements of the dance as being related to the Chinese New Year Dragon customs and wondered what the connection, if any, was.

At midnight, as expected, a great yell went up. The bell boomed loudly as REAL fireworks went off in the sky. Of course, the good citizens of Seoul had been saving the best for last, as millions of Roman candles reappeared and shot off their glory at the same time. The air was very thick and smoky; it was raining ash but it was as light as day. My brother shot excellent video footage of some of these incredible events (my camera batteries were dead, so the photos I have posted are from his camera).

We had surprisingly little trouble getting home, and collapsed the minute we entered the apartment.

JOURNAL: New Year's Eve 2005 Part I

2006-01-11T21:29:00.001+08:00

Seoul Jan. 1, 2006

Hello everyone! I hope you are enjoying the new year. I have had a very special visitor, so I have not blogged in awhile. My "little" brother came to visit me in Seoul, and I was busy showing him around and working at the same time. I hope to make blogging my regular Wednesday night habit. Is it a New Year's resolution? Well, no, not exactly. I know better than to make resolutions about anything...

On Christmas Eve, I sang in my church's Christmas Catata, a pretty piece of fluff if there ever was one. We got together, at the last minute (typical Korean style), a group of very amateur actors, and it was great fun. We dubbed our impromptu single hour of rehearsal the "William Shatner School of Acting." We sounded tolerable at least. The script was certainly no great masterpiece, which made it all the more fun to camp it up a bit. Of course, I do have some professional acting training, so it was a bit hard for me to "loosen up" my expectations, but I did.

After the concert, I met a friend at Buck Mulligan's Bar in the City Center. We sat there with our Guinesses and listened to cheesy music in the background. For some reason, I just didn't have much Christmas spirit this year. Before I met my companion (who had gotten stuck in horrendous holiday traffic), I took a chance to look at the City Center Christmas lights designed, as I understand, by a famous Italian light artist. They were spectacular, but all I did was look; it was so crowded that my arms were pinned to my sides very tightly and I couldn't get to my camera case!

After the blah Christmas, I began to prepare the way for my brother. I had three days off from work and no money to go anywhere, so I decided to do the final "de-bacheloring" of my apartment. I am the first Western female to live there, and it shows. None of the previous tenants had ever done a thorough cleaning, so I bought some fancy cleaning supplies. Armed with a scrubber, a mop, degreaser, and a good work ethic, I proceeded to scrub down my disgustingly greasy (as it turned out) kitchen shelves and cabinets. This took me almost a whole evening. I mopped, swept, and sorted like a madwoman for the next three days. As it turned out, I needn't have bothered, as my brother is one of the aformentioned messy bachelors! I felt better at the time, however, even though it took me six months to get around to it. Of course I had done regular cleaning of my apartment, just not a deep cleaning.

My brother came in on that Friday, and I had an interesting time getting to the airport. I had done my research online, and saw that a limosine airport shuttle runs from the LotteWorld Hotel to Incheon Int'l Airport. The one that picks up across the street from me stops running at 8 p.m., but the LotteWorld Hotel had a bus, according to the schedule, at 9:25 P.M. I flew out the door of my work at exactly 9:02, and hailed the first taxi I saw. I got to the Hotel just as the incoming bus arrived. Beaming with certainty, I approached the door after all of the passengers had deboarded. The bus driver stopped me and said that the last bus had left at 7 p.m. and that there were no more buses. I tried to explain that the schedule had said 9:25, but his English wasn't up to my explanation. I later found out that winter hours are different, alothugh nowhere does it say that on the English website!

I stood there, bewildered and upset, wondering how the hell I was going to get to Incheon. Finally, a busboy approached me and pointed to a taxi. It was one of the black deluxe sort, which usually means a deluxe price. With only 100,000 Won, I was very nervous about this, but decided to take a risk. As it turned out, the 70 km trip came to 62,000 Won. He did NOT charge me the deluxe price after all, I think out of pity for me. Not that it was exactly cheap.I got there before my brother arrived, but the night wasn't over yet...

It was 11:30 p.m., and our transportation offers were very limited. I glanced out at the taxi stand, and saw nothing but deluxe cabs waiting. As we headed towards them, a man approached us asking if we needed a taxi. Without thinking much about it (I was still calculating the possible cost of a deluxe cab after hours) I accepted. Without further ado, he whisked our luggage cart out the door, and put us in a rickety white van.

I instantly regretted my rash decision when I discovered that a) there were no seatbelts and b) he drove 40kmh over the speed limit. The man did have a "City of Seoul" official license on his dash, I noted with some relief. They are very harsh here on forged documents. As the meter ran up, my brother and I began making loony plans for escape from my momentary lapse of street smarts. I knew better, but, like many foreigners, was lulled into the sense of security that comes from living in one of the world's safest and crimeless cities. I knew we would not be hurt, or even majorly ripped off, and I was right as it turned out. It would have cost the same to take one of the deluxe taxis, if not more, though I think they might have been more comfortable! We decided, after much debate, to have the driver drop us off near City Hall. After some confused directions and some half-hearted commentary from the driver, he let us off at Seoul Station to the tune of 100,000 Won. We had bad luck at the ATM, so we hailed a normal city cab, and for 20,000 Won more, got home safely. That qualifies as the most expensive cab ride I have ever taken.

The night passed without much incident; well, not quite, as my brother ripped my spare bed (a futon)apart by accident...

2006-01-11T21:28:00.000+08:00

Police Force New Years Eve

2006-01-11T21:26:00.001+08:00

Seoul Dec. 31, 2005

2006-01-11T21:26:00.000+08:00

Seoul Dec. 31,2005

NOTES: When a Man Loves a Woman

2005-12-22T21:22:00.000+08:00

I am trying something a little new tonight. I am posting what I hope will become a sort of online notebook about random but related things I have been considering, but have made no firm conlusions about yet. Feel free to post any responses you might have, and help me clear my head a little.

I have done quite a bit of soul-searching lately on the war of the sexes, relationships, marriage, and getting along with people of the opposite sex. I have observed the different, and very intricately convoluted "rule" book in Korea for dating, and made some tentative comparisons in my mind with how our culture perceives the connection between man and woman. Tonight, here are some of my observations of Korea:

1. In the subway, I note many young couples who seem to have an unusually sensitive connection to each other. They communicate without speaking and without excessive displays of PDA. The young man often stands face to face with the young woman, with his arms above or below her head, braced. As Westerners, we would find this a gross invasion of personal space, but I appreciate the intentions of the young men I have seen. As the subway rocks (or sometimes jerks) back and forth, the young man provides a sort of safety brace for the lady with his arms. They stand mere inches apart, but do not usually touch. I observe these attentive young men gazing down with a mix of awe and protectiveness at their demure lady friends. The women seldom look up, but when they do, the couple's eyes meet and a secret communion commences. I always wonder what they are saying to each other in their minds. It is a beautiful sight to see, how the man protects and cherishes the woman he adores, and it makes me ache and long for a man to love, honor, protect, and cherish me in the same way. So what happens to cause item number 2?

2. The infidelity rate in Korea is astronomically high. The cult of the business world demands excessive drinking, smoking, and visiting of hostess bars. Noraebong (a sort of group karaoke bar with private rooms) thrive along side the ubiquitous double barberpole "barber shops" where, I am told, you receive a wash and haircut for BOTH heads, as well as some extra manual services which I will leave to those with fertile imaginations...

On the other hand, some of the middle-aged housewives I have encountered scare ME. We know what happens to the men, as "man" is biologically wired to chase and sniff at anything that will let him, but what happens to the women? Those demure, sweet, and attractive girls turn into bulldozing, rude, and fashionably-challenged AJUMAS. It is like they give up at some point. Although childbirth certainly contributes, Korean families are not very large, so something else is at work here. There is some cultural link I am trying to piece together here, but cannot place it yet.

3. The "Cherished Woman": I hear many younger Korean women docily accept rather harsh criticism from their significant others. One particularly attractive and slim thirtysomething I know, was constantly told by her boyfriend that she was fat. Specifically, he objected to her muscular calves (her hobby is sports). I taught her a nice American phrase for the next time he criticized her, and she dutifully wrote down "shove it up your arse," giggling delightedly. Of course, she will never use it, but I am certain she will think it now and again...

Another woman I spoke to talked about a boyfriend who only liked "parts" of her body, but not the whole thing. She said she kept thinking "What about the rest of me?"

This wise woman talked some sense into me. Also a thirtysomething, she said it was worthwhile to wait until God sends a man who will treat her as a "cherished woman." This does not mean he tries to boss her around, or become overprotective, as Korean men tend to do. This means that a man cherishes what he has, and does not try and change her to fit his definitions of what a woman should be. Submissiveness, contrary to what has been said, is not a useful quality in a woman. Support and nurturing, insofar as individual women possess it, is all that is required of a Godly woman.

RANT: AN INTERLUDE
So-called Christian men tend to forget this. Barefoot and Pregnant wives are of no use to anybody. Nor, for that matter, are dictatorial, overbearing husbands. The Man is Law has no place in a society where women MUST work in order to help support a family. This in itself is a way of offering support to her life-mate. In many cases, however, it has gone way too far.

The "submissive woman" myth has done more damage to society that anything I can think of. For one thing, it created "femi-nazi-ism." While it is well and good that women declared their freedom in the late 1950s, the arc swung a bit too wide, and in doing so smashed into some absolutes of human nature.

First of all, give anyone an inch, and they will take a mile. This has perverted itself into women who boss their husbands around, overorganize their offspring's lives, run businesses, and find themselves mysteriously burned-out at thirty-five. The men take this golden opportunity to ignore their offspring and ignore their wives. They become vegetative couch slugs after 5 p.m., who, after years of a wife taking care of every little detail, cannot even conceive of why their wives resent their lazy ways. Men do not naturally appreciate anything, and the new brand of feminism fuels the fire of chauvenism, rather than quenches it.The men then trade in the burned-out old model for a newer one. Divorce soars, no one is happy, and no one gets what they want.

You see, in spite of what current American culture would like us to believe, "men and women is different." Underlying all of the prevalent feminism is a great fear, a fear of letting someone else share our lives. The fear runs in both sexes, but I think women fear loss of control more. Notice I did not say men should run our lives, ladies. I know myself well, and know I could never take an order from a man unless a) he consulted me first and b) he let me know why he wants me to do it. Do otherwise, and i would probably laugh in his face! This is not feminism, this is logic. Likewise, I would never ask something of a man unless I a) consulted him first and b) told him why I think it is a good idea. This is a more logical and balanced way of looking at things. This is sharing a life, as it should be.

The old ways, as represented in Korean culture, and the new ways, as in American culture, have both proven themselves faulty. What the fundamental link is, I do not know. There needs to be a balance of some kind.

JOURNAL: Babies and Botox

2005-12-14T21:21:00.000+08:00

Generally speaking, Seoul is not an easy city to multi-task in. Food, for example, must be purchased by the average person in fits and spurts. You can buy meat, for example, at the butcher, bread at the bakery, and vegetables from the vegetable stands. Limited amounts of these items can be found at so-called convenience stores or small "shupo makkets," but I wouldn't depend on anything being in stock. My local market only carries pig meat and its assorted by-products, for example. If you are brave, you can frequent the farmer's markets, but good luck in communicating. Of course, if you crave American food, you can buy it at the rather expensive Hannam Market (which caters to diplomats) or, as many of my coworkers do, buy a year's supply of Goldfish Crackers at Costco. My main point though, is that everything in this city is very specialized. The exception, as I learned, is women's health.

During the last week of November, I accompanied a friend to Dr. S's Women's Clinic (name changed to protect the innocent) for some test results. Dr. S specializes in ob/gyn matters, and her name came up through a complex web of referrals (as I understand it). The expat community in Seoul is very spread out, but word of mouth gets around. You see, women's matters are not generally an area of specialty considered necessary by the average Korean woman because they are simply not discussed. Some of the information that does leak out can be very silly. Dog and cat meat, for example, increases sexual stamina among older men. Jumping up and down after the act keeps a girl from getting pregnant. And, my favorite one, compliments of one of the sixth graders, is that teenagers are not physically capable of getting pregnant. He genuinely did not believe that Maya Angelou got pregnant at age 16.

The abortion rate has been (rather extremely, I'd say) estimated to be about 80% among sexually active women (estimated conservatively at about 30% single females). The irony is, birth control is easily obtained OVER THE COUNTER. No prescription is needed. Purely on a fact-finding mission, I asked about and verified this at my local pharmacy. Of course, the ladies behind the counter have been giving me the fish eye since then; in restrospect, I probably should have gone to a pharmacy where I was not known! I was made to feel guilty just by asking the question (they know I am unmarried). Korean men eschew condoms (I will have to take that one on faith!)so it is highly likely that women do have to make visits of shame. A rather Westernized Korean man I know spoke of a certain clinic at Jeju Island (a resort) where dark limosines carrying certain well-known Korean female celebrities have been known to drop off their eye-shaded passengers...

Dr. S's office was very pleasantly lighted, with plenty of reading material and soothing classical music piping over the loudspeakers. The waiting area chairs and couches were surprisingly comfortable, and, after a very late night and early morning, I found myself fighting to stay awake. The nurses and receptionists, as well as the doctor, spoke excellent English, and seemed to be exceptionally well-organized. This is a rarity in Korean health care; more often than not, it is barely organized chaos!

The office was on an upper floor of a well-maintained, but older building near Hannam market. Upon gazing out the window, I discovered that the neighborhood, though quiet and dignified by day, clearly had a shadier side. The telltale double barberpoles were in clear evidence along the side street, and across the street was a rather loudly (in English and Hang'ul) advertised sign for an STD clinic. "Well, we are near Itaewon," I thought.

After exhausting my resources with the magazines and newspaper on the table, I idly gazed around the room for something to do. Suddenly, my eyes stopped. Amazed, I moved over to the window to get a better look at the literature that had arrested my eyes. "Botox," I read. The pamphlet, upon a quick scan, gave a list of the healthy and positive benefits of the procedure, and urged it upon everyone who was feeling a bit elderly. Upon futher examination, I discovered that the ob/gyn clinic also offered Botox treatments.

"Well, I guess it is not so crazy an idea; after all, it is mostly women who have that procedure done, but it did seem like an odd combination of multi-tasking:
"Get your PAP Smear, STD test, and Botox all in one visit! No pain no gain!"
Maybe it is better to get it all done in one shot, so to speak. Of course, the clinic also deals with prenatal care, so a little postpartum Botox might be just the ticket after a long night up with the baby..."

As I sat there sleepily contemplating these thoughts, my friend came out to wait some more. As we sat there, blearily staring at the newspaper, a commotion entered the lobby. The strangest looking Korean woman I have ever seen burst loudly into the room, accompanied by a more sedately attired younger woman.

The first thing that impressed me about the woman was that she was very tall. Her face was shaded by a large cloche-style hat with a crimson geranium sewn to the crown. Her extreme height was easily explained by her slender, excessively spiked high-heeled boots. The woman had the longest, and most beautiful legs I have ever seen on a woman. Her extraordinary limbs were thinly covered by black fishnet hose, her skirt barely decently covering her elongated expanse of leg. Her blouse was cut low, but just on the right side of decent. A fringe of frizzy and poorly bleached blonde hair peaked out from underneath her headgear. Her hat slipped a little, and I saw with some amazement that she was far from a young woman, moreover, she was probably in her fifties. Her skin had the tight, too-many-face-lifts aspect to it. She held an ice-pack carelessly to her nose. At first, I thought the ice pack was for a beating, given the woman's obvious profession. It later occured to me that she probably had a Botox treatment. A loud and course voice boomed out from her triangular-shaped face, in broken English,

"Men only want one thing, I tell you. Did I tell you what that bastard did to me last night...."

The woman proceded to list a long list of all things wrong with her "boyfriend," men, and the world to her long-suffering companion. The performance was clearly partially for our benefit, as much of the monologue was rendered in English - Lord, knows, she was loud enough. At one point, the woman took the "Entertainment" section of the paper, and began to regale her "audience" with reading the Sex Advice column, and chortling loudly and ostentatiously over a 70-year-old man who "perfumed the bed sheets" every night to get his wife in the mood. My friend and I looked at each other sideways, but then had to look away from each other to avoid giggling over this spectacle. She switched fluidly from ghetto English to Korean, often starting sentences in one language and finishing in the other. She finally quieted down, then went to the nurse manning the phones. She said something low and meaningful in Korean; I would have given anything to know what she said, because the erstwhile receptionist turned bright red and burst out in incredulous laughter. It must have been pretty choice to make an ob/gyn nurse blush...

My friend went back to her appointment, and I was left alone in the lobby with this strange woman. She clearly wanted someone to notice her; I am not sure why I held back. There were so many questions I wanted to ask her - about her profession, her life, Korean men, Korean women...Here was my opportunity to find out from an insider. Somehow, though, I lacked the courage. Moreover, a great pity overtook my senses, as I contemplated the great trials that this woman must have undergone in her profession. I was overwhelmed with a great love for this sad and lonely creature. Inside I knew, however, that speaking to her would only feed her need for attention, and I did not relish the thought of entangling myself in the life of one pursuing "Mrs. Warren's Profession." I stayed silent, and avoided eye contact.

Instead, I turned my focus to her companion. The younger woman, as I said earlier, was sedately and somberly dressed, all in black. Her face had a slightly hard-edged look, especially around the eyes, but other than that there was nothing remarkable about her appearance. Althoguh clearly embarrased by the older woman, there was a strange sort of long-suffering respect in her attitude. When the older woman got too loud, the younger woman spoke soothingly to her. She made sure her charge was comfortable and well-cared-for by the staff.

The young woman had an air of assurance normally associated with the well-educated. Her English was exceptionally good as she conversed with the nurses, so I was rather startled when she referred to the woman as "Oma." I thought I had misheard, so I began eavesdropping on their conversation. The older woman was rattling on, albeit in a quieter voice, to the young woman. The woman looked slightly embarrassed, so I can only imagine the theme of the conversation. Then I heard it again, this time in shocked English,

"Mama!"

Apparently, the older woman was the mother of the younger woman. There was very little trace of the older in the younger generation's face, except about the hardened eyes. Botox and plastic surgery, presumably, had erased all other traces between this strange mother-daughter team. I wondered what her father looked like, as she was very pretty in her own natural way, then wondered if she even knew who her father was. My pity shifted to the younger woman, who was clearly the caretaker of the elder. She will probably never be able to marry. Koreans children take care of their parents at all costs. Seldom do they abandon them to public charity, although in extreme cases, it does happen. Still, what a life she must have!

Botox pushing aside, the clinic itself provides excellent care. The doctor gives well-explained literature out on most female-related illnesses and concerns, and, I have been told, very detailed and instructive information to her patients. I was further assured when I saw many waygooks coming in and out of her clinic with satisfaction on their faces. I have the doctor's business card, and have no hesitation about making my regular check-up appointment in March. If anyone besides family and friends staying in the Seoul area wants her information, feel free to send me an email and I will give it to you.

JOURNAL: Hindang

2005-12-06T21:21:00.000+08:00

"Who are the people in your neighborhood?" Sesame Street

THE WHITE DOG

Last week, as I was walking home from work, I saw something moving in and among the garbage sacks behind the school. Curious, I went over to investigate. It was a beautiful white dog, with pale tan spots on his shanks and hindquarters, and he was digging in the garbage. He was a little, but well-built thing, and I recognized him as a pure-bred Korean dog; I have seen them all over the place, but do not know what the breed is called. They are a gentle, loyal, but not overly "dog-like" dog; they are more cat like in that they are very particular as to whom they associate with. The dog seemed vaguely familiar, and I wondered if he was one of the ones I saw daily on my trek to work. I also mentally cursed the people who could abandon such a lovely animal. He was slightly dirty, but did not seem undernourished or sick.

The dog did not seem alarmed at my presence, so I drew closer, and cautiously put out my gloved fist for him. He gave me a rather indifferent "sniff over," then went back to rummaging. His body leaned into to my petting and scratching, but his nose was too busy to acknowledge me personally. I wondered again who had abandoned such a lovely and docile creature.

As I was giving him attention, a man stepped shyly out of the shadows. He appeared to be searching for something. He saw the dog, and came over. I absentmindedly asked, in English, if it was his dog. To my surprise, he answered me in English. It was NOT his dog, but he knew the dog. It was a street dog, and the man had come to give it shelter and food for the night. I recognized the man as working at one of the shops on my route, and suddenly realized that this was the dog that sometimes sleeps in front of the shop. Intrigued, I asked how the shop had acquired the dog.

It seems the dog had been found wandering around the streets some months ago. The shop men had noticed it, but no one could approach it. One day, they found the dog cowering in the back of the shop. They coaxed it out, and cleaned it up. In their spare moments, the shop men had built a dog house (heated!) and began to feed the animal. The man sheepishly admitted that the dog even had a sweater! I wondered if the man had knitted it himself...He seemed very fond of the dog. The dog became accustomed to humans again over time.

The man picked up the little white canine, who snuggled into his down jacket contentedly. I asked the man what the dog's name was. The man blushed and giggled, replying,
"Huindang."

I asked a Korean friend later what it meant, and he laughed and said it meant "white dog."

Huindang apparently remembered me the next morning. On my way to my pre-work sandwich shop, I saw him and the "shop boys" lounging around outside. Huindang came up to me, gave me a few delicate sniffs, and wagged his tail. He then gently nibbled my fingers in a mock play tug-of-war. I gently coaxed him to jump up and nip my fist a few times, and after a few final pats and head scritches, began to walk away. Huindang, like many dogs in Seoul, is not leashed, so he began to follow me. He followed me all the way down to the door of the sandwich shop,amusing his caretakers greatly, but I did not let him follow me inside. He was still in the area when I came back out 20 minutes later.

There is something endearing about a country where people care for even a humble street dog.

Out of Commission

2005-12-05T21:08:00.000+08:00

I apoligize for my lack of posts - I have been ill and very busy. I will begin posting weekly again after Wednesday.

PHOTO: Restaurant Guardians

2005-11-14T21:57:00.001+08:00

Restaurant Guys

PHOTO: Intrepid Wanderer

2005-11-14T21:57:00.000+08:00

Intrepid Wanderer

PHOTO: Lady of Topaz

2005-11-14T21:56:00.000+08:00

Lady of Topaz

PHOTO: Mermaid Statue - far view

2005-11-14T21:55:00.000+08:00

Mermaid Statue - far view

PHOTO: Flamenco Dancer

2005-11-14T21:54:00.000+08:00

Flamenco Dancer

JOURNAL: Noses

2005-11-11T10:54:00.000+08:00

A Korean friend pointed out to me something that should have been....well, as plain as the nose on my face, about Koreans and kissing that might explain the mystery (see "Cellphones and Kissing" 10/06/05).

Not being particularly attracted to noses, or for that matter, not having ever even considered noses, I failed to notice that, generally speaking, Asian noses are not as big or deep as Western noses. Once this was mentioned to me, noses became a bit of an obsession. I watched people get on and off the subway to observe this phenomenon, and found it to be rather valid. No big schnozzes, though a few flat and broad ones.

There is no problem with full on straight kissing, then. Westerners have to tilt to kiss because, well, our honkers are big, Roman, pointy, hooked, button, or otherwise less than delicate. Mine seems to exist only to get sunburned or allergies. Noses are not sexy or cute, but they do need consideration when contemplating a sweet end to a romantic evening.

JOURNAL: Paying Bills in Korea - A CPA's Worst Nightmare...

2005-11-08T21:25:00.000+08:00

Well, if you read this blog tonight, it is only through the good graces of my local PC Bong, as I have no other form of communication at present. You see, something got horribly lost in translation with my phone company. My Internet and phone line have been completely shut off, thanks to KT Telecom's lack of ever sending me a bill. How did this happen? Moreover, shouldn't Rebecca have noticed that she was not getting a phone bill? Well, I was getting a phone bill...and paying it. There is a lesson in this, I just don't know what it is.

My Internet and phone suddenly went goodbye on Monday morning. This happens sporadically, but only one goes out at a time usually. I asked our office manager at work about this. He pretty much acts as interpreter in all things practical, assisting all the foreign teachers in finance, apartment management, and getting along with the locals. I have had a difficult financial month, but he assured me that I had about a month grace period where I didn't have to pay any bills; it is just added to the next month's bill, with no penalty. Although my pride was wounded by the idea of letting debt accrue, I nervously accepted this advice. He said that they would never, in any circumstances, cut off phone, heat, or water unless more than a few months had passed. He said to try my phone and Internet the next morning. So I did. Nothing but a message saying that my number had been temporarily disconnected. No Internet either.

I went to "Joe" again this morning. I brought proof that I had paid my phone bill last month to ONSE Telecom. That is the only bill I have ever seen that has a "Telecom" on it; everything else is in Hangul. I assumed it was my phone bill. It comes about every other month. "Joe" said it was not my regular phone bill, but long distance; this made no sense to me, as I always use a phone card to call the U.S. The bill is never very high (about $20), so I figured it was for local calls. It never occured to me that it was anything other than a regular phone bill, or that in Korea they separate local from international calls.

"Joe" called the phone company, which I later found out was KT Telecom. I have never gotten any bill from this company, except for my Internet Installation fee, which I had paid immediately. They claim (rightly) that I have not paid a phone bill for four months, and that they will not restore service until I pay them 138,000 Won ($132). I have never gotten a bill from them, other than the first, so this stunned me. "Joe" verified that they had the correct address, which they did, but the fact remains that I have never gotten a bill from them. They accused me of never checking my mailbox! This is a ridiculous, as I cannot avoid checking it when I come in the building - it will hit me in the face, as it sticks out of the mail slot in the narrow (Korean-sized) lobby of the building. Also, the adverts will bury you if you don't check your box regularly; they stick them on doors and hang them on doorknobs as well. Great advertising strategy, but subtly annoying.

This gets more complicated (CPA's nightmare)so bear with me. I have exactly 68,000 won to get me through until the 15th, due to a slight, and rather stupid (back to Subtraction 101 for me), miscalculation of my monthly budget. I had planned out how to use every penny, and, were it not for this calamity, would have made it through easily. I usually have a very nice cushion of finance at the end of the month; this is very unusual for me. I also have a credit card, but this is not necessarily an asset in Korea, as credit cards are not widely accepted.

It is no wonder that KT Telecom's figure astounded me. They would not take credit card, and, from the arguing going on, were apparently giving John a hard time on the phone. Unless I deposited the sum right away, no phone service or Internet. Period. I then had one of my ridiculously ill-timed PCA (Public Crying Attacks) because of all the stress. Whichever ancestor passed this odd tendency on to me ought to be horse-whipped; perversely, it only happens when my pride, which I have quite a bit of, is at stake. I felt very cornered by my ill-fortune, and quite frankly have been nervous and embarrassed about my lack of funds all week. Oh, I have joked about it, but it really stung this afternoon. This latest development was just too much for me. I was very aware that I was alone in a strange land, with no money, no options, and the threat of "ugly American" stamped on my defaulted telephone bill.

I asked about cashing traveller's checks or getting money wired to me, but was told this would take 3-4 days. Finally, "Joe" suggested I ask the director of the school for an advance on my salary. This thought was almost too humiliating to bear. It turned out that she was not in her office all day. I finally got the nerve to call her on her cell phone. She was quite gracious about it, aside from a comment about foreigners not checking their mailboxes...This has to be Korean code language/translation for something....maybe it is a rough equivalent of "the check is in the mail..." Apparently, this has happened to other teachers, some to the point of losing both electricity and heat during winter. I shudder at the thought of being lumped in with young, immature people fresh out of college who decide to spend their money on soju and makju (beer) rather than paying bills, but I guess it works to put the final nail in the coffin of what was left of my admittedly occasionally excessive dignity. The money will be deposited in my account tomorrow morning.

Murphy's Law is still in full effect as I sit here and type while courting lung cancer in the smoky PC bong... My cell phone ran out of minutes this evening, so I am completely unreachable by phone for the moment. I bought a new phone card, but then discovered that my cell phone battery was dead. My spare was still plugged into the wall, but mysteriously, was not charged. I sincerely hope I do not have an accident tonight, as I have no means of calling 119 if something happens...

Living in a foreign country makes you humble, as I guess we should all be. South Korea is full of generous and helpful people who will go out of their way to help you even before you have asked for it. Community is strong, and I am finding my niche in it. The restaurant guys on the street greet me and flirt/joke with me everyday (not sure which way it is intended, truthfully), even though we don't always understand each other. The bakery lady where I buy my bread always slips something a little extra in my bag because I performed a random act of kindness for a customer - never mind what it was, it is not important. She also admires my bargain hunting skills, and so we trade fashion secrets of Seoul. The ajuma at my subway stop always takes time to chat with me in her broken English when I stop to buy my phone cards. It is nice to be acknowledged by the people you see everday.

JOURNAL: Looking for Pusan Part 2

2005-10-31T20:48:00.000+08:00

I got up early (for me) Saturday morning, and headed to Dunkin' Donuts for an ever- so-healthy breakfast of donuts and coffee. As I took a seat, a noisy group of men in blue uniforms came in. They were all rather young and fresh looking, and at first I thought they were military; Busan is a naval port also. Upon closer examination of their uniforms, however, I discovered that these young men were actually policemen. Tall and skinny Korean policemen, but policement nevertheless. In a donut shop. Apparently, it is universal.

Their youth was explained later to me by the posters that boasted, "new police, new start - Dynamic Busan." One of them kept staring at me and nudging his neighbors. I smiled at him and made eye contact; he nervously smiled back, then looked down with a slight flush on his acne-mottled cheeks. It was very endearing, but also pointed to this new force's inexperience.

I heade towards the beach, a soft, cool, mist cloaking the water in a curtain of grey. The threat of rain hung in the air, and a heavy fog began to trickle down. The beach was all but deserted. A softly rounded ajuma meditated quietly. A slender middle-aged woman in a pink sweater dandered along the surf, pausing in reflection from time to time. She looked weary, but not sad. A couple of businessmen sat on the sand, careless of their expensive suits.

These men fascinated me. They were in perfect harmony with each other, in the way that only a long friendship or marriage can bring. They spoke to each other little, but when they did, their tones were warm and nurturing. They grasped each others hands, and slapped each others knees with occasional mirth. They then quieted down, sitting in silent communion with their arms around each others shoulders - a perfect David with his Jonathan.

I wandered north on the boardwalk to see if I could find the "Little Mermaid" statue. It is only mentioned briefly in my guide, and as far as I know, nowhere else. I have always loved this story of unrequited love, so I had to see the Korean version. Copenhagen, Denmark also has a famous mermaid statue in honor of the author of the story. Actually, the guide said the statue was south of the beach "below the cliffs," but I got turned around and headed north by accident. It turned out to be a pleasant, if unintended, detour.

The legend of ancient times tells the heartbroken love story of the Princess of Topaz. The Princess of Topaz was from the "Naranda: country, a country of mermaid, and married the King of Favor from the Mukungnara. She sheds tears of longing for her kingdom, reflected in topaz on each night of the full moon.

As I got closer and closer to the end of the sand, the few people on the beach thinned out. I began moving quicker when a group of noisy school children came to the edge of the water. I watched them and took photos for awhile, then moved on. I passed empty restaurants and kiosks, their owners hopefully glancing at me as I passed. It was lightly sprinkling, and a man "tsk tsk"ed me for not having an umbrella.

I came to a narrow winding street that twisted up from the boardwalk. I held my breath as I passed an area which apparently served as a fish-cleaning station. Idle fishing boats were parked Korean-style, that is, haphazardly, in a small inlet. Some of them were quite derilict, while others seemed more serviceable. I turned back, and meandered my way back to the beach.

Not having forgotten my original purpose, I stopped in an incredibly cheesy tourist shop to get directions. The lady spoke no English, but I bought Andy's joke gift with a grin, followed by some hysterical laughter. The lady looked like she was about to call the police, so I quickly paid and left. She gave me free postcard, I think to ensure I didn't come back.

The information office turned out to be on the other side of the shop, so I went there. The place I wanted to go, Donbaek Island, was closed to tourists because of the APEC summit, but, I was told, if I went with just a camera, they might just let me in. The kind ladies gave me directions to a department store with lockers, but when I got there, no lockers. I decided to try my luck with the guards, so I took a taxi up the hill to the fancy Westin Chosun Hotel on the island.

The island is actually not an island anymore; it was filled in by a land bridge several centuries ago. The guards let me go in the park surprisingly, but only on the outskirts of the island. Men (possibly snipers) in camoflauge squatted in the bushes, their beady eyes glaring out at the families enjoying the summer day. More obvious guards stood at attention around all the important monuments, not allowing people to go down the stairs to get to the rocks and cliffs, or the monuments, for that matter. Hearbreakingly, the Princess of Topaz Mermaid Statue was closed to visitors. It could be seen from a distance, but only just.

I saw the fancy hotel from the other side of the statue, and was struck with inspiration. The hotel property met the beach, so if I went back down to the beach, I could climb up the other way! I finished my tour of the island, and strolled back down to the beach. Sure enough, there was a steep stairway, really a bunch of rocks, with a handrail leading up to the top of the cliffs behind the princess. Maybe I could get a closer shot at the Princess of Topaz. I covered my grungy tourist gear with my nice leather jacket, brushed my hair, and put on my most important stroll. I casually meandered through the hotel property and private to the stairway, and no one stopped me, the "Mission Impossible" theme running through my head... I scrambled up the naturally-made stairs to the top of the cliff, meeting two ajumas selling water along the way. They looked up hopefully at me, but I kept going. Finally, I reached a lookout point, two noisy women chattering on the bench. I peered down, and there she was.

She was very large and beautifully rendered. The artist had taken time to naturally sculpt every scale and angle perfectly. Her face held an expression of deep longing as she gazed into her ball. She blended naturally into the rocks, almost invisible, but for the slightly greenish cast of the bronze. She belonged there, a part of the sea and spray.

Another precarious stairway of rocks led down towards her, so I began clambering down. About halfway down, however, I paused. The Princess of Topaz was not in mourning alone. A well-dressed man in a grey business suit stood on the rocks at her feet, looking out to sea. In his hand, he held a bright bouquet of wedding flowers. His companion, also in a business suit, sat discreetly to the side. The man disappeared in front the statue, and when he came back, the flowers were gone. I did not see whether he laid them at her feet or threw them into the sea as a sacrifice. He then sat on the rocks, tragically alone, and silently smoking a cigarette. I quietly tiptoed back up the stairs to give him his privacy. I had gotten my photos, but I am not sure it was worth the misery of a broken heart.

I headed back to the train station, figuring it was a good place to find better lodging. I checked into the Hotel Ariarang, a place that had seen better days, but it was still quite comfortable. The paint was peeling, and the gold in the elevator was quite startlingly rendered, but I had a porter who showed me my room with much gusto. I had free Internet access, and a coffee shop and restaurant, so I was content.

I decided to take a bus tour of the city, and met up with some very amusing Taiwanese businessmen. Actually, they were engineers. They spoke excellent English, but no Korean. I found myself in the strange position of giving them key survival phrases, and irony that was not lost on me. I also gave them travel tips for Seoul. We all watched the sunset from the top of a mountain. The fishing ships muttered their way home in the dusk, and we could see them all from very high up.

After a rather spicy Korean dinner, I went back to my room. I grew restless, so I went down to the bustling Busan Station Plaza. People came and went from all walks of life, and a group of street preachers gathered to sing praise songs. I genuinely enjoyed hearing praise music sung in Korean, and drew nearer to the group. They stood in a circle of communion, their hands and voices raised to the night sky. The neon lights came on, and this phenmoenon showed how beautifully rendered Busan Station really was. Unfortunately, my mood was shaply broken when a crazy man began harassing people. He saw me, made eye contact, and came purposefully towards me. I got up quickly and melted into the crowd. Crazy people seem to like me.

I watched some television, then went to sleep.

JOURNAL: Looking for Pusan (or Busan) PART II

2005-10-28T19:11:00.000+08:00

About two months ago (at least they gave me warning), I was told that I had two days off at the end of October. Although I have vacation days, Korean hagwons dictate when I can and can't take them. I had about 200,000 won to work with, which isn't much. I looked into international flights to other places in Asia, but they were ridiculously out of my price range. Taipei came close, but I decided against it for now.

As I sit here typing, I am in awe about how smoothly this little trip of mine came together, although it did not start out that way. On Tuesday night, I rather randomly decided I would go to Busan, a port city in the southeastern part of South Korea. I wasn't terribly enthusiastic about this, you understand; going from a city of 11 million to a city of 4 million (the second largest in Korea) does not sound like much of a break to anyone, I would imagine. When I announced my intentions to people who asked me where I was going on vacation , many people, even the restaurant guys said, rather tersely, "Why?" Beleive me, I asked the same question. The best I could come up with was, "Because it is there."

I overslept on the morning I was to leave, which was fine, as I had made no reservations whatsoever (too intimidated by my limited Korean). I hopped on the 3:00 KTX train (bullet train). Th ride was pleasant enough, save for one small incident. I was sitting next to a plump ajuma who promptly shut the curtains (she had the window seat) and fell asleep. Too polite (but slightly peeved, nevertheless), I quietly bemoaned my obstructed view and slowly drifted off to sleep. About an hour into the trip, somewhere between sleep and awake, my head was jostled painfully, and a soft pair of hands caressed my forehead, clucking sounds emerging from a disembodied person. I opened my eyes, but saw stars for a few minutes. I finally asked, in English, "What happened?" The ajuma next to me then did a pantomime of a businessman swinging his briefcase a little too freely and clocking me on the head as he "whoosshhh...!" out of the train. The lady was very kind and soothing and I forgave her for obstructing my view of Korea. Finally, 600 km and two and a half hours later, I emerged in Busan.

The terminal for Busan, by the way, is a fantastic display of architecture. The building can be described as somewhere between a football stadium and Chicago O'Hare. This is not as obnoxious as it sounds; somehow, it works. It is especially lovely at night (I can see it from my window right now). There is an urban park and plaza surrounding it, with interesting abstract sculptures, a fountain, and plentiful seating. There are hotels and motels scattered along the busy street, surprisingly reasonably priced, if a bit seedy around the edges.

Tired, and with a headache fast approaching, I decided to take the subway to Haeundae, the beach resort area of the city. As I reasoned, it was off-season, and probably pretty quiet. The tourist information lady gave me a rather condescending and pitying look and suggested I take the bus. I asked about the subway route, which she reluctantly gave me, but warned that there was a transfer involved as well as a 10 minute walk to the beach (oh no, not that!). I set off looking for the bus depot, but found the subway first. The big "transfer" she was worried about was the ONLY transfer on the entire line (I make three transfers just to get downtown Seoul!), which runs in a sideways "X" shape. I made the transfer fine, then managed to get off at the wrong stop. I paid my fare AGAIN (only 1000 Won)and went two more stops.

I came out of the subway, only to find myself on one of those back streets that every tourist dreads, and only the locals know. The street seemed a bit shady at best, but as I got closer to the beach, it got a little better. Although there was quite a bit of activity still going on in the night, it was very peaceful. There were definately some interesting characters about, being a seaport and all, and I saw the first bearded Korean I have ever seen outside of pictures and Korean melodramas (men are meticulously clean-shaven in modern Korea). I clutched my red bag close to me as I wandered the labyrinth of haphazardly planned streets. I stopped at a McDonalds for dinner, then wandered on. I suddenly found myself in a "motel row." This, I must explain, usually means that a redlight district is not far, and I was not disappointed in this guess, as it turned out.

The "love motel" as it is known here, is very cheap and comfortable, if you have the nerve. They are not skanky or dirty by any means, and families will sometimes stay in them "on the cheap" (about $25). Even so, their purpose for existence is somewhat more blatant than most Koreans would like to admit. They are signalled the same way your typical Vegas strip joint is - loud, colorful neon signs, themes (castles with turrets seem to be popular), and titles. I saw the "Relax Motel," the "Queen Motel," the "SandaFe" (oof...bad unintentional pun!), "21 Themes" (hmmm), "The Seventh" (where are 1-6?), and my favorite "Novios" (Spanish for "lovers," but your average Korean wouldn't know that). I avoided these like the plague, as well as some of the seedier unnamed motels. I could see the "Grand Hotel" getting closer, and began contemplating whether my credit card could bear its lofty weight.

Earlier in my wandering, I had noted a nice-looking, but nameless, motel of the amorous type. It was on a busier street, and the lobby (and the $25 price) looked clean and inviting enough. The walls were lined with aquariums; clearly, sea life was the theme. I headed back there after a few more wrong turns, and paused at the door. Well, here goes nothing. I took two steps forward, and stopped dead in my tracks. There, on the threshold, were three folded "calling cards." The photos were similar to the type you find on the back pages of free publications in any major city, "Feel Frieda for free," and the like. The cards were creased in the center and laid neatly, but pointedly, on the doorjamb. My best guess is that this is a signal that the ladies are at "home" but with clients at the moment. Well, I wasn't having THAT! No drunk Korean businessmen for THIS lady.

I stomped away, peeved at my limited choices. I gazed longingly at the "Grand Hotel" again, and inadvertently wandered down a random side street. Suddenly, I saw an "APEC" banner on the side of one of the motels. That sounded promising. The 2005 APEC (Asian Pacific Economic Convention) is meeting in Busan this year to put Busan, already the third largest port in the world, on the map of tourism, so to speak. I followed the banner to the "Lord Beach Hotel" (not "motel"). I presented myself
to the desk clerk, and she issued me a key. The price, although double that of a "love motel," was well worth my security of mind that I would not get molested in the night by a big bottle of soju. The room was neat, clean, and tidy, though a little careworn around the edges. The only reminder of the district I was in came when I reached into the bedstand drawer in search of magazines, and came out with a handful of "Gold Circle" condoms, manufactured in 2001, according to the package (expiration 2006). There was also the telltale big box of Kleenex by the bed. "Well, at least they play it safe," I thought. I had cable t.v., a warm shower, and a comfortable bed. The neon lights from the love motels around the hotel were a little distracting, as well as the drunk businessmen coming out of the bars, but all in all, I spent a quiet, restful night.

JOURNAL: Oh what a Night! PART I

2005-10-28T18:50:00.000+08:00

I have been away from my computer quite a bit this last week, so I apologize for the delay in posting. Things should be calming down now, and I will hopefully be able to post more regularly. I'm afraid this post will be a long one, so bear with me...!

Well, to update:
Last weekend, the recruiter who coerced me into coming to Korea had a big event at Carne Station. We had a scavenger hunt, but that turned out to be a bit more than we bargained for (and the recruiter). Some of the items on the list, shall we say, were a trifle warm...I don't know how people got orange traffic cones and I don't want to know...I met some, well, UNIQUE, people; my partner in the scavenger hunt was very nice, but a trifle bit eccentric (he was wearing a Fredricks of Hollywood lace up shirt!). He had been in Seoul for only three days, and had come from a town of only 25,000 people, so he was a bit shell-shocked by the crowd (and a recent divorce, as it turned out). We did very poorly in the game, as he was new and I was brought up Protestant - no traffic cones, mops, and chairs for us!

The evening went well; I met some Wisconsin folks, which was strangely deja vu of my early college days...especially as the beer (Hite - horse piss at its best!) was flowing freely. I am afraid I overindulged quite a bit; the next thing I remember is salsa-ing at a Mexican-themed bar in Itaewon. Ah, well, you only live once.

Out of this whole deja vu experience, I met a charmingly "shy but open" Connecticut man, and we hit it off rather well. I hope he is reading this...

Well, that is the end of Part I. I am doing this in installments.

JOURNAL: Where There's Fire...

2005-10-19T20:46:00.000+08:00

I officially had a very bad, but interesting "movie clip" weekend.

I went to the KOTESOL Conference last Saturday (hence the late posting), and the minute I stepped out of the door, things began to happen. I went down the subway steps to the ATM machine that is right before the turnstiles. The ATM is all in Korean, so I tried my usual suicide cocktail of random buttons to get some cash. None of my usual combinations seemed to work. After about the fifth or sixth rejection of my card, I fiannly got it right, and took our 60,000 won to pay my entrance fee to the conference. At least I think I did. I was very flustered, and it is possible I left the money in the ATM...I hope that is what I did.

For some reason, the trains were running a bit off schedule, and it took me quite a long time to get to my destination - Sukmyung Women's University. At Dongdaemun Station, an obnoxious, loudly singing beggar woman began harassing the crowd delayed by the missing train. She pushed gum into my lap as well as other laps (those of us fortunate enough to have seats), then demanded chun won (about a dollar). I tried to give it back to her, but she put it on my lap again. I said firmy "No, no, no!" but she kept pushing it at me. Finally, the language barrier occured to me, and I said "Anio!" She went to the next person, wailing her song, and I shared a glance of amusement with the women sitting next to me. I felt a little guilty for not giving her anything, but this feeling did not last much longer. The overdue train finally arrived, and I squeezed into a standing room only spot.

From far away, I heard the old woman singing. Suddenly, the singing got louder, and I realized the woman was on the train, walking through the already overcrowded carriages. Sure enough, she came through our carriage, repeating her gum-in-lap routine. She also approached the standing crowd. She approached me again, getting hopelesly hung-up on my large tote-bag...or so I thought. She recognized my face, and, after a hopeful glance, turned to the next carriage.

I was wearing heels, so I was a bit disgruntled to discover that the way to the university was up a steep, worthy-of-San-Francisco, hill. On my way up, I began scoping out possible lunch places. I firmly vetoed "Popeye's Chicken" in my head, but noted a Subway (good in a pinch) and a small bibimbap (Korean stir fry - very delicious) joint behind a boutique that also looked promising. I arrived at the conference very late, but only missed a few seminars.

The line was short for registration, so I got through pretty quickly. A woman asked me if I would like to join KOTESOL (Korean Teachers Of English As a Second Language), and I rather brusquely replied that I would join after the conference if I liked it. I hate pushy people, and in retrospect, regret my answer. In my defense, I was a bit flustered. I registered online, with a little help from the Korean volunteers.

I went to the cashier, and drew out my wallet. I opened it, and discovered all my bills, except for a few thousand won bills, were gone! I looked through my bag, my purse...I looked everywhere, but they were just gone! At this point, I am afraid I broke down and cried, in front of volunteers, staff, and important people. I don't know where it came from; I think it was just all the stress. We all have our embarassing habits, and this is my big burden (my other is calling people by the wrong name!). One of the managers was under the impression that it was stolen at the conference, but I quickly cleared him of that notion. They offered me tea and sympathy. I said just wanted to go back home, but they convinced me otherwise.The ATM on campus was broken (naturally), and the nearest one was down the hill. Another volunteer helped me find it. Upon discussion, I discovered that he was a student at San Jose State University! He even showed me his I.D. (don't even ask me to pronouce his name!). He is an English student there....I spoke to a woman there who wanted to know which academy I worked for. Embarassed about my "losing it" in front of all those people, I blurted out that "I would rather not say," which she took to mean I was embarassed by where I worked (which I am not, by the way), and gave me a mini-lecture on not being ashamed of my workplace. I kept my cool this time, made some lame excuse, and got away.

I got the money, trudged back up the hill (in heels!), and paid my fee. The lady I snapped at earlier apparently was the event coordinator (why, oh why, do I always look like an idiot in front of important people?). I apologized for snapping at her, explaining that I was overwrought. We even had a laugh over the "movie clip" absurdity of the situation. When she saw the name of my institution on my name tag, she seemed to be curious. My academy had no idea I was at the conference, so I was still a little reluctant to say much (not being authorized), but did say that I liked it there,they treat the teachers well, and the students work hard and do well (which they do). I gathered from her response that my institute's franchise (which shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) has an excellent reputation because of how it works, and that there is a lot of curiosity about the "insider view." She asked if I would write an article for the next newsletter, but I gave her a vague "wait and see" answer.

I missed all the morning conferences, so I went back down the hill for lunch. As I walked, I smelled a horrible, acrid aroma coming from futher down the street. I suddenly saw a crowd in the middle of the street, and fire trucks milling around. The mains were open, and there were firemen spraying hoses halfheartedly at a building. As I got closer, I realized the restuarant (and nightclub) where I had palnned to go to lunch was their target! The horrible smell of burning plastic was very overwhelming. I missed the big fire, but the charred remains of the inside of the building were completely under water. The outside was lightly scorched, but the botique had suffered some smoke and water damage (including some of the clothes). I hiked down to Subway, my second choice, but discovered everyone else had the same idea.

Resigned to my fate, I trudged back up the hill to Popeye's Chicken for the first, and I sincerely hope, last time. I chatted with some people in a work-and-get-your-MA-TESOL program, including the director if the university, Mr. Lee (a very pleasant but stern looking man). He seemed interested in me as a potential student, and asked me very leading questions. Truthfully, I don't know what good a second M.A. will do me...It is a thought worth considering if I stay in Korea longer.

The rest of the day went smoothly. I got quite a bit of useful information from the seminars. I was, at, times, overwhelmed by the thirst for knowledge that I have always had. It felt wonderful to be back in classes and learning.

I took a cab to my band rehearsal, and enjoyed all the city lights on my way. Seoul is truly a lovely city at night.After rehearsal, I treated myself to another cab ride back to my side of town and over the Olympic Bridge.

JOURNAL: Facial Products and Badmitton

2005-10-08T23:29:00.000+08:00

Well, I have to say that "gift with purchase" takes on a whole new meaning in Myung Dong. I went to Missha (a Japanese-based company) to restock on facial cleansing products. I bought about 30,000 Won worth, as I had run out of everything all at once. At the register, there were a variety of gifts-with-purchase available - the usual travel kits, mirrors, cosmetics, and carrying cases. Two weeks ago, my friend scored a free umbrella, which was pretty nice, but I have to say that tonight's gifts were even more impressive.

We each received a set of....badmitton rackets! No birdie, just the rackets! They had the name and logo of "Missha" tastefully displayed on the cover (yes, there was a cover)and handles, but they are of decent quality. I have no idea what badmitton has to do with skin care - maybe promoting a way to get that healthy glow? My (Korean) companion and I kept straight faces until we left the store, then laughed ourselves silly.

I also got my hair trimmed today, and I have to say that the salon did a terrific job. Of course, I had a translator, which helped. The stylist was fascinated by my natural curl, incredulous that it was not a "body" (perm). I will make an appointment next week to get my highlights updated.

JOURNAL: On Cellphones and Kissing

2005-10-06T22:00:00.000+08:00

CELLPHONES

Celphones (han-du-pones in Korean) are ubiquitous, and quite complicated. I have no idea how to text-message, as the instructions are all in Korean, but have received them from a few people. I have a camera on my phone, and, as I recently discovered, a video camera. The problem is, I have no idea how to download them, or transfer them, or whatever. There is a prominent web service provided with the phone ("Nate"), but no English instructions to go with it. My photos are permanently stuck in my phone...Wow, I never thought I would say that...

I love the fact that I am not bound by any contract...or so I thought. I pay 10,000 Won for about 200 minutes, but, as I just found out, there is a catch. At the end of the month, if you do not pay another 10,000 Won, they suspend your service "at the customers request" (how polite) even if you have leftover minutes. The leftover minutes are cummulative, but you still have to pay what amounts to a monthly "fee" of $10. I am not complaining too loudly, as this is still a good bargain, but I wish SK Telecom had told me this information! I now have to search for a local branch where people speak English, as my cell phone is now nonfunctional. To add insult to injury, my landline is now not working - I suspect this is due to the changeover to eight digit phone numbers, in which case my old phone number is now null and void. No one has given me a new phone number, so this is quite frustrating.

KISSING
After observing some Korean television shows, and some discreet "dark places" lovering, I have discovered that Koreans do not know how to kiss. In fact, the way they do kiss looks quite painful. I was musing on this phenomenon whie observing an ad for a sappy Korean soap opera at my favorite, relatively American-style sandwish shop (aside from having eggs and half a head of iceburg in every sandwich). The boy braced himself on top of the girl, in a non-sexual, "cute" way, and proceeded to smash her nose and lips in with his own corresponding parts. His nose ground into hers as he smashed their lips together - I am sure her inner lip was painfully crushed against her teeth. I suspect he may have even drawn blood. There was no movement of heads or lips, just a steady, hard pressure. I cringed for her.

I have observed this in stolen moments not for public view (I seem to stumble on it quite a bit), as P.D.A. is strictly improper, and wonder if anyone asked the question all American adolescents ponder, "Where does the nose go?" I do not see French-kissing (though perhaps that is reserved for behind doors), which is probably a good thing if no one knows where the nose goes...Overrated, anyway - imagine it with kimchi breath! Actually, Koreans are obsessed with oral hygiene; given their diet of strong-smelling (but not necessarily unpleasant) foods.

I have found that many Koreans I have spoken too are, sensually speaking, stuck permanently in middle school, even some of the married ones. The topic is not discussed at all, really, but when it is, it seems to be in hushed tones. Forget sexuality - it is not talked about at all. It is often "Brady Bunch" meets "Sex in the City" in most instances. I actually like this, but on the few occasions the subject comes up, have been put in the awkward position of keeping my knowledge to myself. Most of my sexual knowledge, just for the record, comes from books, public health articles, and listening to people, not from extensive experience.

I do worry sometimes about the contact with Western men. More than one Korean woman I have spoken to has expressed shock when her American/Canadian boyfriend asked her to move in with him...without benefit of marriage. Some of them think that moving in is exactly that - they are not thinking about what usually goes with it. I sometimes want to strangle certain men when they speak of this charming naivete as a good way to "get laid." It's bad enough when they try to pull this on American girls.

JOURNAL: Anyone for Tennis? Enter, a Rant...

2005-10-04T21:12:00.000+08:00

This Saturday I went to a tennis match with some of my new Korean friends. Friday night I spent cleaning my apartment in anticipation; I was supposed to go to a party on Friday night, but, after getting soaked to the bone (umbrellas are completely useless in Korea!), decided that coming in to a nice, cozy, dry apartment sounded better...even if it did require remedial cleaning. Well, I digress...

One of my friends from church works for Wilson sports, and gets comp tickets for various important matches. I know nothing about tennis, but figured this was a good opportunity to learn. The rain had stopped in the morning, but it continued intermittently all day. This did not bode well for a tennis match. The match was postponed until the court could dry off, so we went and watched a practice doubles match. The original game rescheduled for three o'clock, so we went over there and observed some sets between Tatiana Golovin (France) and Yelena Jankovic (SCG). We left early due to a prior engagement, but when we left, the games seemed to be evenly matched. Golovin had quite a temper, and it seemed ot interfere with her game. The referee made her cry, even though he was very gentle with her (a cute British man!).

We came back to my apartment for dinner, and the girls took over. We got chicken from down the street, and I fonud out later that the young man behind the counter was absolutely basking in the extra female attention. This particular chain of restaraunts has made several of us Americans ill with food poisoning, so I was a bit leery of his cooking skills. Fortunately he knew his business well, and there were no problems. Meanwhile, back at the apartment,I was much embarassed to discover I was out of handsoap; I had just been using my shower gel until I could get to the market, and completely forgot about the fact that I had guests coming (at least I cleaned!).The girls, although confused, followed suit. I explained what had happened, and they seemed to accept it. For all I know, they now think that using shower gel for handsoap is a pecular American trait...

I am unused to newer acquaintances taking over my kitchen, washing my dishes (after the meal), and laying on my bed. I found out later that this was a very Korean thing. It makes sense, given that the women always clean up after the children and men (perhaps they are the same thing?). I did not get a chance to do much in my own apartment in the way of helping, which rather amused me. The crowding in the kitchen seems to be a culture thing. I don't think it has ever occured to any Korean woman that "Too many cooks spoil the soup." I especially observed this at the picnic.

We then proceeded to our praise and worship service, lead by the 8th Army Worship Team from Youngsan Army base (near Itaewon). They were reasonably good, but I had really come to hear Pastor Jeff Gionnola, who I had met on my Yeon-su trip (see August 2005). He is a chaplain, and is a very funny man from somewhere in New York by his accent. He was our pastor's college roommate, and, after 24 years of separation between them, he was posted here in South Korea.

Although a laid-back and humorous man, his testimony and sermon was very serious and thoughtful. As I listened to him, I thought of the old "hellfire and brimstone" preachers I had heard. Although not nearly as strong (or long-winded) as the good old fashioned Bible-thumpers, there was something in his message that sounded very much like a modern echo. I began thinking about the old breed of preacher as he spoke - this sort of speaking is necessary for lost and lonely soldiers, and Chaplain Gionnola did it in a firm, hard-hitting way. He speaks in a logical, philosophical way, offering hope to the lost and confused.

REBECCA'S RANT: OSTRICH CHRISTIANITY

I have known soldiers, and they go through the period of questioning that all of us who choose college go through. The difference is, they often have less resources than those of us who choose education. The same temptations abound, however, especially around war camps. Look at all of the "pink" activity in Itaewon, and the drinking (ok, that is just Korea!). There are many ways available to kill the pain. Some of the soldiers read extensively; after all, what else is there to do? Books are portable! This is both a good and a bad thing. Many of them face death or the possibility of extermination by an unknowable enemy. Modern war is faceless and methodical, but humans are not meant to be that way.

I find that many so-called Christians deny the existence of pain, and this is an enormous fallacy. I have heard Christian men say (on different occasions)that female victims of rape,incest, or former promiscuity should never marry because they are all bitter and "spoiled," to which I answer "Get over it!" You are all sinners too, and should not be so choosy or narrow-minded. God will work within her as he does within you. The truth is, in modern society, it is rare to find a woman who has not been touched by sexual crime or misjudgement. I have been watching "Sex and the City" epiodes to get a feel of what "the world" is up to, and now know what to fight; can you say the same? Certain Christian politicians (and people) have said that poor people do not deserve social services becuase they are "lazy" and just need to get up off their butts. We all suffer pain; it is part of the society we live in. Christians who hide from the world stand a good chance of falling victim to it - know thy enemy, because naivete is deadly. Many Christians blame the victim, but this is something that the world does, and the church should have no part of it. I cannot abide Christians who constantly blame the victim or hide from the world; these are Satan's best tools.

If you are willing to keep an open mind, her is a completely subjective list of media that I feel explain sufficiently what we are up against:
Teenagers: Movies - Thirteen (teenage girls, sex, and body image - if you can stand it, watch it with your daughters, because it was written by a 15 year old about her real life),Donnie Darko (teenagers and school), Cruel Intentions (teenagers and sex - an older movie, but still relevant)
Teenagers: Music - Evanescence/Fallen (teen angst), Linkin' Park, any rap music (main audience is WASP boys!), Brittany Spears (still idolized by pre-teens)
Teenagers: TV - whatever your teenager might watch "on the sly" (or even up front) - you know what I mean!
Generation X (1969-1976 born/30 somethings)
Musical: Rent (Pulitzer prize - AIDS, homosexuality, poverty, and philosophy)
Movies: Angels in America - Reagan-era, homosexuality, agnosicism, and post modernism - see where they have lead us. Warning - contains explicit homosexuality (close your eyes, but listen to the dialogue, it's important), Empire Records (funny, but pointed), Dirty Dancing (remember the furor?! Trust me, we all saw it!), In and Out, KIDS
TV: Sex and the City (the modern trials of being a woman in a sexually confusing era), Will and Grace (homosexuality)