JOURNAL: Furballs

As I was walking to work today, I saw the cutest thing. There is a preschool on my way to work that I normally dread passing because of the obnoxious workmen who sit on the bench outside of it. They don't say anything to me usually; they just leer. Well, today, I saw only a few guys sitting there, but a small movement under their legs caught my attention.

At the bottom of the building housing the preschool, there is a decorative baseboard made of mirrored glass. The movement belonged to a four-month old scruffy black-and-white kitten. He was darting in and out of the benches, when suddenly the mirror caught his eye....He then proceeded to attempt to catch the other black-and-white "kitten." He couldn't figure out how to get through the glass, but not through lack of trying.

Most cats I see are alley cats eating out of the garbage cans. Tonight, I got on the wrong side of a very bold tomcat, I must say. I was passing an apartment complex as the gate to the parking lot was opening, and saw an orange-and-white tomcat I usually see near the restaurants waiting patiently (on the inside) for the gate to open. He saw me, and stared at me. The driver of the car waited for him to move out of the way, but he wouldn't budge. The driver gave me a helpless look, and I began clapping my hands and making shooing noises. The Tom actually ADVANCED towards me in attack mode, just staring with his back slightly raised...I walked directly towards him, still making noises, but he just stood his ground. For a moment, I was afraid I was going to get hurt, but at the last minute, the Tom sauntered off, still staring me down. He made a move to come back towards me, but the car cut him off. Tom slowly but firmly walked off and across the low garden wall.

JOURNAL: Murphy's Law and Taxis

It is pouring in Seoul tonight! On my way to work, it was only sprinkling a little, but as I reached work, the thunder began. Thus began my second bad day in a row. Read it and weep (or laugh, as I am sure I will by next week!).

Yesterday was a rough day; the kids were bouncing off the walls and bickering in ALL my classes. I have marking to do up the wazoo; I spent three hours at home grading essays. Fortunately, most of them were good. I managed to get lost once again on the way to the video store. I never did find it, although I did find a few alleyways that were definately a bit "pink." I contemplated asking one of the "ladies" for directions, figuring that she knew alleyways pretty well, but she would not make eye contact with me, so I stumbled my way back home.

This morning, I made another attempt, but spent an hour getting lost again. Just because you can see a landmark (in my case, a large, majestic Methodist church) doesn't mean you can get there easily. In Korea, you can't just cut across a side street because the streets run willy-nilly wherever they damn well please! I did find a bread store, a Baskin Robbins, and a 7-11. I stopped in a pharmacy to ask directions. Pharmacies, I have discovered, are very good for finding English-speakers, as the pharmacists are usually well-educated. The lady called the phone number on the video tape, and, after several confused grimaces, hung up. She said that the video store was off the beaten path, so to speak (her face expressed amazement that I had ever found it in the first place). She had, however, made arrangements with the video store owner for someone to come and pick it up at the pharmacy. I will never go looking for the store again; there is one a little more expensive near me, but it is not worth the headache to find cheap services (50 cents for three days), I have found.

Tonight, I had a real problem with my middle-schoolers. This class is one of the notorious three (of which I have two!). They were loud, rude, and obnoxious (shooting rubber bands, throwing erasers, etc.) and my patience was fast wearing out. During my second block with them, I was late because my CD player for the listening class was missing. I had someone babysit while I ran to the 2nd floor (from the 5th). I came back, and heard him yelling at them. I guess it didn't take long. Well, I went to plug it in, and discovered the cord was missing! I grabbed the substitute, ran back downstairs, got another CD player, and raced back up again. Great, not only do I have an unruly class, but my authority has been undermined by missing appliances!

Fuming by the end of class (the yelling did work somewhat), I looked out the window. It was POURING. I had a huge bag of notebooks to take home, so I decided I was going to take a taxi. I began trying to hail a cab, but the few that came by ignored me. They would just pass right by. Usually, taxis see foreigners and tailgate us down the street (annoying, but I suppose a good marketing strategy). Usually on Olympic Parkway, there are taxis all lined up in a row, but tonight, they had all mysteriously disappeared. Fifteen minutes later, soaked to the bone, I crossed the street. There was a long line of taxis all in a row going THE WRONG WAY for my apartment. I weighed the odds - either take my chances with a Korean taxi U-turn, which consists of slamming on the brakes in the middle of the road and turning directly into oncomnig traffic, or arrive soaked but alive. Depressed as I was, I decided to live, and squished home.

I will now sign off, as more essays await....

JOURNAL: Hospitality and Hookers

I did not do much in the way of publishing last weekend because I have been so busy this week. I apologise, dear readers, if this inconvenienced anyone....Aren't pompous prologues fun?

The truth of the matter is, this weekend, I have to go to a worskhop for work, which will just about kill my Saturday afternoon (but not my night!).

Well, on Friday, after work, a group of us went to a galbi restaurant (Korean BBQ). The waitress was unsually cute; although she was middle-aged, she wore her hair in the high side ponytail buns popular here. My coworker remarked that if we wore our hair like that, we would look like aliens, but Koreans somehow carry it off with style. As we were being seated on the floor, my male friend remarked, with a mock-air of gravity, that he would now "enact my right to a meal." The waitress parroted back "Enact, ENACT!" and giggled delightedly with her new word. Every time she came by, she would say "enact."

The waitress then proceeded to give us all lessons in chopstick usage. All of us by now can get food from the plate to our mouths with only a minimum of spillage, but none of us are exactly graceful in doing so. I still drop things occasionally. Korean chopsticks are thin and flat - not at all like Chinese or Japanese style utensils. Perversely, Koreans use giant spoons (the serving spoons that come in a standard culinary set) for soup and rice. The waitress was very helpful to the males in our party, I noticed, but gave up on the females, laughing at our attempts and mocking us all the way! She was very thorough in her service, however, and we wanted for nothing.

We paid and left, heading to a small hof so that the men could have their cheap beer. After about and hour, we headed off in search of a Noraebong. On our way out, some very tipsy buisness men started talking to us. The older one, tagging along his long-suffering wife (or mistress?), found out I was American, and began waxing eloquently (well, in Konglish) about his trip to Yosemite. He then pressed a business card on me. We headed towards the Noraebong.

A Noraebong is similar to a Karaoke place, but has a different system. You pay for a room (includes beer, dried squid, and snacks) and let loose your inner Elvis. I have noticed that Koreans like to sing in public also. There is a big screen where you punch in numbers. There is, of course, a table, upon which are tamborines and other noisemakers! There is also a small stage area, with one lone disco-ball. You have the option of a duet also. At the end of the song, the computer "grades" your performance with a big, loud "TADAAAAAAA!!!!!!" The goal is to get a "100." We had fun making idiots of ourselves. Some of the song options were a bit weird. Even thoguh I was still sick, I managed to belt through "The Phantom of the Opera Theme," high notes and all, and get the highest score of the night. Being on key is not necessary, apparently....

The next afternoon, I headed to Itaewon to get some clothes altered. For some reason, the tailors kept turning their noses up at me, even though I was well-dressed. I went to the "Big Boss" store, and the manager called a laundry that did alterations. She took me down there and even translated. Of course, it felt a bit weird standing in my underwear in a store with no wall on the street-side, but no one seemed to care about my leopard-print underwear, so I decided not to either. I got five pieces of clothing altered for $30!

I went to Subway for dinner, and stood in a slow moving line for a half-hour. As I came up to the front, a highly made-up, middle-aged Korean woman, with a hatchet-faced hard-assed look about her, rudely cut in front of me and gave her order in rapid-fire Korean. I glared at her, and she turned around, clearly startled to see me. "Oh, I'm so damn sorry! I didn't see you," she said, in a rough, cigarette-cloyed voice. Proper Korean women do not use any form of swearing; they just keep it to themsleves. They also do not smoke. Clearly, by her mannerisms and her language, she spent quite a bit of time near, and probably on, the miltary base. I am guessing she was one of the many "massage-therapists" (hookers too old to be cute) in Itaewon. The funny thing is, many also do "legitimate" massage therapy, or so I have been told.

On Sunday, I hope to get my rebellious hair styled. Wish me luck.

JOURNAL: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Medicine

HOSPITALS
Just call me "Indiana Jones" and be done with it.

As you will know (those of you who are still following my adventures), I have had a horrible cold for the past three weeks. Last week, it decided to move into my chest (no doubt aggrivated by the national pastime of smoking), and I had a few sleepless nights because I could not breathe. On Monday morning, I reached my limit of tolerence. I talked to people at work, and found out that there was an international clinic rather close by at the mammothly-proportioned Asan Medical Center and Hospital. I made an appointment and got directions, but was given the cryptic remark that it was a ten minute walk from the station.

The next morning, I got up early, and got on the train. It took a good half hour by subway to get to the station. I came out of the station (which was above ground), and saw a sign for the hospital saying "800m" and pointing the correct direction with an arrow. The sign was completely in Korean, but I am proud to say I could make out the work "Asan" in Hang'ul. I followed the signs around a long corner, and came to a crosswalk. Crossing the street in Korea at the best of times is hazardous; this time, the corner was completely obstructed so that a hapless pedestrian could not possibly see what was around the bend in the road. As I pondered the risk, an elegantly-dressed business woman came up and stood next to me. She too began nervously eying the odds of getting smooshed. Suddenly, she made her move, and ran like hell across the street. What was good enough for her was good enough for me, and I arrived a few seconds after her. She then smoothed her hair, and calmly walked away.

After a good coughing fit, I walked a few yards further, and saw a sign pointing UP. I followed the direction of the arrow up the hill on my left side, and saw that there were stairs cut into the hillside. By this time a bit winded, I wearily climbed the steps up the hill, and saw another sign at the top - "Asan 400m." The sign pointed in the direction of a paved walking and bicycle lane, which was rather well-populated given the time of day. The path wended its way along what appeared to a be a kind of reservior/man-made river. It was a long way down, and I could see the hospital in the distance on the other side of the gorge. There were beautiful white herons in the algae, but there was also a surprising amount of trash along the sides. I suddenly realized that there did not appear to be a way across the gorge. As I pondered this frightening thought, mentally picturing a swinging rope bridge, I saw the narrow, and as it turned out, rather rickety concrete bridge reaching across to the hospital. As I went across, I willed myself not to look down. On the other side, I had to go down the steps of another hillside, then down two more flights of stairs to the hospital. I picked a door at random (Asan is a huge, sprawling complex), and entered.

I entered into an airport lounge. The seating was arranged back to back; there were also newstands and coffee kiosks (coffee for the coughee?). I went to the sign marked, in English, "Information," but, as usual in Korea, I was heartbreakingly disappointed when the "Information" sign turned out to be all in Korean.

I got directions instead from two different desk clerks, and was directed to a small, but immaculate, doctor's office maked "Asan International Clinic." The nurses spoke nearly perfect English, and were very helpful getting me set up. I now have a "Patient Card," which means that I will be brought there if I get injured or seriously ill. The clinic was founded about five years ago specifically for expatriots. The doctor was Korean, but spoke with an American accent. I nearly cracked a smile when I looked at his door, and saw his name was "Dr. Kwak!" In his office, I noticed all his books were also in English; I gather from his selection that he is also a flight doctor/pilot. A female nurse was in attendance, presumably to protect my modesty.

Well, after asking me about my symptoms and checking me over, he told me I had "Mycoplasm" (which I later found out was also known by the much scarier name mycoplasmic pnewmonia). This lung illness most Korean school children get, so Korean adults are immune to it. Being unused to Korean germs and working with children all day, it is not surprising that I got ill. I have a dry cough, with no fever or other symptoms. It is very common with people who come and work here.

I am on a new antibiotic related to Erythromyacin (which I am very allergic to) but made from a different chemical compound. The cough is still with me, but a little better. I hope I continue to improve. If not, I will return next week, and he will run some tests.

Next time, I think that I will take a cab.

JOURNAL: Namdaemun Market Rocks!

Today started out a pretty lousy day. Last night, I was pretty upset, as two teachers I was rather fond of up and pulled a "midnight run" out of the country. The transitory nature of friendships made in Korea is known to me, but nevertheless, it still hurts when someone leaves, especially someone you especially like. I have had a week to recover, but the weekend seemed very likely to be a lonely one. I lay awake last night, lonely and in tears; I have not made many connections here, being a bit shy and retiring, and some I have made are now gone. Sometimes it is just difficult to cope, I guess; I have been generally happy here so far. I listened to an MP3 of Bill Cosby at 3:00 a.m., seeing as I was not able to sleep, and it cheered me considerably, but only mometarily. I then fell asleep.

I was a bit emotionally hung over this morning, and just generally apathetic about getting out of bed. Of course I did eventually get up, and had a cup of yogurt for breakfast. I then forced myself to leave my apartment to do some much procrastinated shopping. I headed to Dongdaemun market to see if I could find a new pair of shoes in "Shoe Alley." Dongdaemun is a night market, for the most part, but there were still plenty of stalls open when I got there at about three.

I did find a pair of shoes that fit for about $12. The merchant let me wear them straight away. My very expensive but hopelessly rotted leather slides he stared at in disgust. I motioned for him to get rid of them, and with a large toothy smile, he cheerfully tossed them in the rubbish bin!

Feeling a bit better about things, I wandered through the industrial fabric district. The workers and merchants were a bit startled to see me, but friendly enough. I had a couple of near misses with the mosquito-like scooters flying at ridiculous speeds down the street. People hurried down the street or worked in their tiny sweat shops, turning out textile goods for the masses. All activity stopped as a fancy Cadillac blocked the narrow street while it rolled by. When it had passed, everyone went back to work as if nothing had happened.

Seoul has a lot of street life, even in my neighborhood. I love this. People bring out stools at night and sit and watch the world go by. Old men squat by the road, cigarettes dangling precariously from their lips, as they browse the newspapers spread out on the ground. The young men sit out on benches and chairs to ogle the girls (especially us foreigners) as they walk by, occasionally making sly (but mercifully not understood) comments. Women push their babies in strollers, or more often than not, carry them in a very Korean version of a sling across their backs or chests. I have heard them described as looking like tumors, which I suppose is true. They also do their grocery shopping. There are always more men than women on the street (except in shopping districts). At night, I have noticed that there are predominately men playing with the children; presumably this is to give their spouses a break. Dads come out at night, and once again, women disappear. The exception is young women, who can be seen patronizing the restaurants in large and giggly groups.

Not much was going on at Dongdaemun in late afternoon, so I turned back towards the subway. As I was walking towards it, a girl from school almost ran me over. The odds of us meeting in a city as large and sprawling as Seoul are immense, but we have run into each other before (in Itaewon). She also wanted to go shoe shopping, so we turned back. She got the cutest pair of imitation Puma shoes I have ever seen. They are not my style, but I think they are cool and cute for people who like athletic shoes.

We decided to go to Namdaemun market a few stops further up the line, as it has more variety. Suddenly, the shopping fever was on! I generally do not like to shop, but Asia is changing that...

Last week, I walked home (about a mile and a half) in a horrible rainstorm without an umbrella, and my watch became toast, as well as the expensive leather shoes; my purse also got nearly destroyed with water stains.. With this in mind, I began browsing the stalls for a new watch, a new purse, and a new umbrella. Namdaemun has an excellent assortment of rather cleverly made name-brand knock-offs. They do not try to hide the fact that they are imitations either. My new watch was very cheap - I got a purple leather watch with a large face for about $10. I scored a beautiful, and very Korean, large purse, after some bargaining (we got $12 knocked off), for $20. My umbrella was more expensive, but I reasoned that it needed to stand up to Seoul weather, and this one was well made. It was also amusing for small minds, as you press the up button for the umbrella (highly spring loaded) to pop out, and the down button for it to deflate! Both items have name brands stamped on them! I was tempted by a "Louis Vatton" wallet, but resisted the impulse. I think I did rather well! My companion bought one of the wallets, and a very charming handmade wicker birdcage (her grandfather collects cages).

As the sun started going down, droves of people began emerging out of the woodwork. More incredibly, every time we took a turn around the market, more stalls of merchandise appeared out of nowhere. Merchants stood on tables and platforms, all shouting at top volume. The pungent smell of frying silkworm larvae (children love them, even though they smell like burning tires!) competed with the fish market odors. It was noisy, crowded, stinky, and fascinating. I felt I was really in Asia. The market has been on the same site for 600 years, as the elaborate ancient Seoul city gate will attest to. I have been told that the best bargains are made after midnight.

We then headed for more practical shopping at E Mart. E mart is Korea's version of Walmart, and it is ever so crowded! I was in search of a chair, but didn't find one that suited my oversized bum (as I am now starting to say because I am surrounded by Canadians). I bought a bum cushion instead to sit on the floor with. I also struck out on the table. I went a little nuts in the stationary aisles; Korea holds the patent on "insufferably cute" in regards to girls' stationary, but they also have regular "adult" things. I am a bit amused that you can get "Hello Kitty" sanitary pads (good luck on tampons!), complete with a discreet little carrying bag. But I digress.

My big purchase was....an iron! Appliances and electronics (contrary to popular rumor) are very expensive. Tucked away towards the bottom shelf were some cute smaller irons for about $10. The rest, amazingly, were up towards the $100 mark. Frankly, I don't understand this at all.
I bought a table-top board as well, even though it did not make sense. If Koreans don't use tables, then how can they use a table-top board? Well, they do have tables, but they are only about a foot off the ground. Then again, Koreans, unlike westerners, are accustomed to squatting for long periods of time, so maybe it isn't so bad.

My feet hurt, but I feel I was very productive. I fought the crowds and won. It helps to shop with another person.

JOURNAL: The Sexual Habits of Koreans

Tonight I had a rather enlightening experience. I spent the day in Itaewon at the used bookstore, and then proceeded to a park where people like to hang out. It is near a university, and serves as Seoul's theatre district. There were some very bizarre fringe theatre posters, to say the least. It is the first area in Seoul where I have seen open homosexuality displayed. Koreans tend to take the same position as the U.S. Military on such issues.

Generally speaking, I do not see flagrant displays of P.D.A. (public displays of affection), but I do see couples who are suspiciously close. Actually, Korean couples are very cute without being unbearable. Public kissing is strictly frowned upon, but there are definately some hand-holders (this is also common among friends of the same gender- both male and female), and cuddling going on. I think it is awesome how the young men shelter the young women; I wish American men were that sweet. A middle-aged man once shared his umbrella with me when my (second!) umbrella had broken, and I found it very charming.

I wondered if and where the young couples went to "make out".....and other such activities. Many live in multi-generational houses, and in Seoul, there is no privacy. I know about the sex motels, of course, but there aren't actually that many in Seoul proper. Well, tonight I found out.

A male friend and I decided we were going to go watch a DVD at a "DVD Bong." We went up five flights of stairs and into a reception room. There was a young man up there, who was apparently well-known by my friend. He greeted my friend, but momentarily froze when he saw me. He then mysteriously dashed out of the room. I looked at my friend, and he looked back at me, rather puzzled. The clerk returned, and was all smiles. I saw a chair, but did not sit down, as there was a huge heart pillow occupying the red velvet seat. We browsed through the DVD collection, which included everything from children's movies to a rather suspiciously large collection of pornography. We chose KINSEY, a movie I had not seen yet, and it turned out to be an ironic choice in many ways.

We were escorted into a tiny room, just big enough for a reclined love seat/bed and a rather large t.v. The clerk busily sprayed copious amounts of alcohol over all the furniture, then left. The loves seat was made of sparkly fuzzy white material, but the entire thing was covered in clear plastic vinyl. There was an end table with a large Kleenex box on it (Kleenex is a rarity in Korea), and, rather oddly, a hook with a hanger on the wall. The walls were painted black, and a discreet red curtain covered the window. All of this, added together, suddenly made me realize what sort of activity usually went on here. My friend looked at me and explained the vinyl and Kleenex were for "easy clean-up." Oh.

My friend is a perfect gentleman, so I was not concerned on that account, but it was amusing in a strange way, to be watching KINSEY in a room I am sure Alfred Kinsey would have been intrigued by. After an intellectual discussion (post movie) about whether Kinsey was a drug addict or not, we left. As soon as we emerged, our clerk was in there with his bottle of alcohol.

It was a very strange experience.

JOURNAL: Computers, Courtship Rituals, Vampyres, and Tea

Well, this morning I had a bit of a surprise awakening...I have been ill, so I decided I was going to sleep in until 11 am. At about 10:30, my door bell rang. I was very sleepy when I got up to answer it. About halfway acroos my room, I head someone typing on my keypad entry. I shouted "Hello?" and my door opened. A Korean man entered my foyer; I must explain that each apartment has a deep set area about 6 inches below the floor, usually tiled. It is for people to leave their shoes at. He stood there, obviously as stunned as I was. I rather groggily thanked the Lord that I was wearing a long nightgown, rather than one of my short, Victoria's Secret-esue (hey, satin is nice and cool!) summer nightgowns.

Well, we stared at each other for a few moments, and I suddenly recognized him as someone who worked at the school (the name Justin randomly popped in my head). I went in and sat on the bed as he began frantically making phone calls on his cell phone. He was still on the shoe pad, and I was sitting on my bed, trying to wake up. When he got done with his phone calls, he stared helplessly at me, still not moving from the door. Suddenly, I realized he was waiting for me to invite him in. So I did.

He then came in, and to my astonishment, plopped down on the floor, and picked up a random piece of paper on the floor that had fallen from my table and began to read it. "Make yourself right at home!" I sarcastically thought, but my duties as unexpected hostess prevailed. I offered him a seat on my "couch" - a padded, chaise lounge cushion that you put on the floor. He accepted it, and as I headed into the bathroom to change, I heard the word "couch" and a bit of chuckling as he made yet another call.

I came out, and he said that the engineers to install my DSL Internet were on their way. He offered to stay to translate, which I accepted. The man's English was limited, though we could communicate. As he was making calls, I bustled around the room, picking up a bit (as I have been ill, housekeeping was not stellar this week!). The room wasn't trashed, but it was certainly less than tidy. As I moved about, picking things up here, stashing things there (hiding the bright red bra that was hanging on the corner of my table was job number one!), I suddenly realized I was behaving exactly as the Korean women I went on the church retreat with were behaving. They were always picking up after people, and moving things before I had had a chance to tidy up. It must be the "womanly instinct" or something. I think I was just feeling a bit awkward about the whole situation.

The men arrived, and stopped in the foyer. Having learned my lesson, I invited them in. They then spent several moments removing their very impressively complex work boots and padded in with only their socks; I think it kind of defeats the whole purpose of work boots, don't you?

The original man was still there, communicating with the workers. I offered him a chair this time, which he accepted. Not having eaten breakfast or anything, I offered him some tea, which he also accepted. I boiled the water and stared at the pot... you know it IS true, a watched pot never boils. I poured the tea and let it steep. He tried it once, made a face, then let it steep some more. I apologized for my cheap jasmine tea (it is not the best jasmine tea I have ever had either). Aparently, it was better after a few more minutes; I thought so, anyway. He sat to drink the tea. The workmen gave me my password, and left. The man stared at the tea and would not look at me. He would look anywhere but at me - the walls, the floor (I wished my floor were more clean), the table (ditto). He seemed very nervous. After an awkward pause, he put the tea down, half-finished, and fled as politely as he could. Hmmmm.....from a vampyre to a bat out of hell.....Suspicious.


This evening, on my way home from work, I saw my two restaurant guys out as usual.

Yesterday, when I finally emerged from my apartment after running a fever for two days, I weakly asked the older man for the nearest "yakkuk" (pharmacy). He looked at me as if I was speaking Swahili (which to him, I apparently was), and as I feebly repeated the word, he suddenly said, "Ah! Yak guts!" (which is what I thought I had said). He then pointed in a direction, and I pointed too. He shook his head, said something firmly, and pointed in the same direction. I pointed in the same direction, and then he yelled the same word. Close to tears from frustration, delerium, and general weakness, I began to walk off in the general direction. He then yelled and gesticulated that I needed to turn the corner. I did, and found the pharmacy, where, mercifully, the pharmacist spoke English. When I emerged later that evening, I was determined not to acknowledge the yeller, but he spoke to me first. He does not speak English at all, but he pointed to his head, then at me. I pointed to my nose, made coughing gestures, and he then understood.

Tonight, he and delievery boy were standing at their usual posts. I waved cautiously, and as I crossed the street, they approached me, making fun of my McDonalds bag (after two days with no appetite, it returned with a vengeance!). I smiled and said hello. They got in my personal space, as Koreans tend to do, but I am getting more tolerant. The older man (he looks about 50) inquired through gestures about my cold, and said "Hospital?" I said no, but that "No eat for two days." He offered me his stool, but I declined. Curious, I asked him his name. He looked puzzled, and his friend interpreted. It was "Sa" something or other. The cute one is Something Choi (a surname). The older one slyly asked me if I was a Miss or a Mrs. (uh oh, here we go!), and I smiled again and said "Miss." They then asked me how old I was (both of these are common questions, but women usually just flat out ask if you are married, or even worse, how many children you have!). I demurely looked down and said "29." The cute one said he was 37 (close up now, I noticed he had a few deep grooves in his face, but a nice, well-built frame), and the old man said he was "Pretty."
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Fritty!"
"Fifty?"
"FRITTY!"
"Forty, " Choi said.
I looked at the older one, and completely deadpan, said, "Ah! Too bad! Too old!" and the younger one roared at his friend's discoposure.
Apparently, Sa ? is like many Midwesterners I know; when he encounters someone who doesn't speak his language, he just gets louder and louder until he is yelling. I suddenly understood this, given yesterday's encounter, and mentally giggled at the thought. What goes around comes around...

So, the long and the short is - I have internet access. My computer is wishy-washy about the whole business; after some experimentation, I discovered that you must boot it up and put the DSL cord in after, or the blasted thing will crash.....I have posted several photos for those who are interested. I will be making an online photo album soon, and will post a connection from this blog.

Good night!

PHOTO: From the Stone Relief at Pagoda Park

Why the Koreans Hate the Japanese.....

PHOTO: A Traditional Teahouse in an Insadong Alley

Insadong Teahouse

PHOTO: Main Street of Insadong (Seoul)

Insadong Main Street

PHOTO: A Little Bit Crowded?

A Stall in Insadong

PHOTO: Changing of the Guard at Gyeongbokgung Palace

Changing of the Guard

PHOTO: Guardians of the Palace

Guardians

PHOTO: A Banqueting Pavilion

Pavilion

PHOTO: A Receiving Room

Receiving Room

JOURNAL: Uggggghhhh.....

I have a very bad cold right now, and had a bit more than my limit to drink last night (long story there), so I am in pretty bad shape today. So, what do I do? I go grocery shopping out of sheer necessity (nothing but grapes in the house right now), and manage to set of my burglar alarm...I actually didn't know I had a burglar alarm, but apparently I do.

On Thursday night, I went out with a few teachers to a chicken restaurant I had discovered as having very scrumptious curry chicken. In one week's time, the curry chicken was off the list, so we got some wings and skin roasted chicken instead. No sooner had the four of us sat down outside(we had all had a trying day), four children, apparently belonging to the restaurant owner, began clamoring around us for attention. One of the guys in our party actually encouraged this behavior, and spoke to them in Korean, English, and, just for fun, Spanish. Thye would not leave. One of the little girls, after randomly clouting her brother on the head, brought over a cage with several of the biggest, ugliest insects inside it. They were cicadas, but about five times the size of the American/Mexican variety (and five times the volume). She handed it to her brother, and as he was walking away with the cage, he happened to look down at the ground. He let out a yelp, and we all looked - it was a tiny beetle (about a half-inch). As we were thoughtfully chewing our chicken bits and trying not to laugh, he stomped on it.

Friday night, the directors of the school took us all out to OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE after work and fed us - a very nice gesture, especially since we have all been working overtime without necessarily getting paid (we are all on salary). We did, however, have to forgo our dinner snack, so we were rather hungry when we got there. I know some of the teachers would prefer the cash, but I appreciated the gesture for what it was. As there are about 35 of us, I am guessing it cost quite a bit.

A few of the girls decided to walk off the carbs from the meal and the, ahem, beer pitcher in Olympic Park. It was very beautiful at night; Olympic Park is across the street from the school, but a bit of a walk from my apartment, so I have not been there. I think I will try to see it in daylight soon.

We then joined the boys and some other girls at a local hof (beer house), where they were already in various states of inebriation. As the two of us remaining were already late, the waiter had to bring out two more glasses. Actually, they were glorified shot glasses, I suppose in deference to our womanly propriety. All the men got mugs. I have never actually heard of anyone doing shots of beer, have you? I enjoyed sitting back and not talking; my sore throat had begun, and I was not inclined to be overly social. It is always fun being the (relatively) sober one. I began feeling suspiciosuly light-headed and overly happy, which puzzled me at first, as I had not had very much (I am a "nurser"), and have a ridiculously high tolerance. Then I realized that I was getting "topped off" while distracted elsewhere. The walk home, insofar as I remember, was a bit wobbly. The boys were singing folk ballads and country songs(apparently a Canadian thing) loudly in the streets at two in the morning as well. I thought that only happened in Irish movies....Although it does happen with Korean men as well. Well, I'm assuming they are singing folk ballads....

Now, I must go and make my dinner. I got some chicken breasts with the idea of making soup, but then realized that, 21st century woman that I am, I have no idea what to put in it, and I am too ill to think very clearly. I have a bit of a fever, so if I am rambling, that is why....

JOURNAL: Miscellaneous Notes

Just a few miscellaneous notes today on advice in living in Korea.

Tailoring and Clothes Shopping
I made a trip to Itaewon ("foreigner's district" - 8th Regiment Army Headquarters area) this afternoon, and checked into some tailoring for myself. My washing machine is rather harsh on stretching my clothes in places that, for modesty's sake, shouldn't be stretched! This point was driven home when I left this morning, and a group of boys in their upper teens followed me and shouted something. I turned around, a bit confused, and the leader gave the universal sign of appreciation, saying "Big!" and gesturing at his chest. I wished I could remember my new vocabulary word for "naughty" (the female, polite equivalent of f--- you in Korean) but could only think of the stronger word (which, interestingly enough, literally means "kick penis"), so I just glared and walked away. So much for my Korean lessons (we learned the bad words because they are often hurled at unwitting foreigners - I am afraid I have heard them already around the Korean branch of our school aimed at certain teachers).

While in Itaewon, I asked random hawkers about men's tailoring. As you may or may not know, the best tailors in the world are trained, and sometimes live, in Korea. Men, you might want to bring about $500 to get a couple of suits. I am VERY impressed with the quality of clothing here in general, but the men's suits are very expensive looking for a fraction of the cost. They allow you to pick the fabric for the suit,shirt, and tie. The locals also do an excellent job with leather - jackets, handbags, and wallets. They are used to larger built people there, at least men. Women are another story, as I found out.

I did score some nice blouses (more modest), a skirt, and a wrap around dress, al for just over 61,000 won. I found a new hole in the wall shop that caters to women above, oh, lets say, a size 6! The woman speaks excellent English and has a good eye for fashion. it is called "Big Boss" (!). There are also some shops that have suspiciously American brands. These clothes all have their information tags slashed or heavily damaged; I suspect there is some black marketing afoot.

Toilet Paper

In America, we have pay toilets; the Koreans are a bit more clever. You pay for toilet paper. There is a vending unit on the wall that dispenses TP for 200 won a pop (20 cents). The one I went into today did not work, so other measures had to be taken. Be warned, carry kleenex or TP. The Koreans use toilet paper for everything; if you spill something in a restaurant, chances are the hostess will bring you about two squares of TP to clean up. When I first got toilet paper for my apartment, the smallest packaging unit I could find had 12 rolls! Kleenex and paper towels, while available, are expensive as they are in low demand. Speaking of toilet paper....

Public Bathrooms

Public bathrooms are plentiful and easily accessible; they are in all of the subways stations and major markets. Vendors generally do not mind if you use the facilities without buying. Although Seoul has become more and more westernized, "squatters" still slightly outnumber "sitters." I will usually go out of my way to find a "sitter" as I cannot physically sit on my haunches without doing serious injury; fortunately, it is never very far. "Sitters" seem to be growing in popularity. Check the stalls before you enter; sometimes the TP is OUTSIDE the stall instead of inside. As plumbing is a bit of a problem in Seoul, Koreans toss used TP in a discreetly placed open garbage can behind the toilets, so close your eyes and do it (or risk flooding the bathroom!). The restrooms are generally clean and well-kept.

Ajimas

"Ajimas" are women who have had at least one child or look as though they are old enough to have had a child; in other words, not young virgins. Don't be offended if someone calls you "ajima" even if you are not. If you are slightly plump, as I am, do not feel insulted if someone asks about your due date! There is a seat on most trains reserved for pregnant women, and many helpful Koreans have suggested that I sit there instead of standing when it is crowded. If someone comments on you supposed pregnancy, it is meant to be flattering, not an insult. Today in Itaewon, an elderly woman tried to convince me to buy a baby-sized hanbok for my presumed forthcoming bundle of joy.

Korean TV

I have only seen bits and pieces of Korean television, as I do not have the 400,000 won it would take to hook up cable (network tv? forget it, not here in the city). No Christine, there are not middle aged naked dancing Elvises, but they do have a few inane dating shows. One memorable quiz show about dating etiquette blew blasts of air in the face of contestants who answered a question wrong. There are quite a few fashion and tabloid shows, as well as some over the top weepy melodramas. On vacation, I saw two episodes of a show called "Fashion 70s." The show, as near as I can tell, had plotlines including the Korean mafia and two toothsome young fashion school students who once-were-friends-but-now-are-rivals. Some guy gets shot in a bloodbath of activity, and passes out holding a white ivory elephant which was intended for one of the girls. This all takes place in the 1970s. The improbable plots and subplots are strangely compelling; what really saves the series is some very strong acting talent. Even though the dialogue was a mystery, the actresses were able to communicate well through some serious "METHOD ACTING" (Brando-style).

JOURNAL: Mayhem, Martyrs, and Massacre

On Sunday, I attended the church I attended last week, and all I can say is that somebody out there (hmmm) definately is out to show me something. I went down to the fellowship hall after service, and began chatting with some people about vacation plans and travelling. My ticket was wrong, as it turned out, and I began asking what in the world there was to do in Gwanju. My co-worker (we will call him Homer) silently guided me over to the pastor, who apparently had begun his Korean life in Gwanju. The answer to my question was, "Nothing." He then proceeded to cajole me into joining his family, the youth group (his two teenage daughter and a friend!), Homer, and his good friend (I mentioned her two blogs ago). I had no idea where they were going or what they were going to do, but I took a "Well, why not?" attitude, and, with a lot of coaxing, agreed to go. The three-day trip only cost me 100,000 won ($100).

We picked up my stuff, and met at KFC. The KFCs in Korea, I must tell you, are actually better than the ones in the United States. I hate fried chicken, but this was GOOD. We left at about 7:30, and got to our destination, Yeonso (yawn-soo) at about 2 a.m., after fighting intermittent torrential downpour. This was to become the theme of our trip. Yeonso is near the ocean on the southwest corner of Korea, I believe. The girls in the car were ages 13,14, and 15, and apparently know all the "Silly Songs" from VEGGIE TALES.

We slept in until 11, and then proceeded outside the city limits. We first visited Aeonyang, where we were supposed to work on fixing the English "translations"(I use this term very loosely, as many of them were almost unreadable, and at times, humerous in spite of their subject matter) in one of the martyr museums. We are currently working on an English-language brochure for the tour of the martyr sites with the idea to pass them on to military chaplains..The idea of this trip was to visit sites of martyrdom for the Christian faith, and evaluate their significance to English language speakers. The firstmuseum was a memorial to a Pastor Son, who lost his life and most of his family in service to the Lord.

Pastor Son was the son of an elder and a deaconess (Presbytarian), who ran afoul of the Japanese during their occupation of Korea (turn of the 20th century) even at an early age. He refused to participate in shrine worship, and was thrown out of elementary school. Christianity had spread like wildfire through Korea thanks to American and Canadian Presbytarian and Methodist missionaries. Japan used this fact in order to humiliate and subjugate the Koreans; after their emperor died, they forced all schools, including missionary schools, to adopt shrine worship and to bow to their dead emperor's image. As a result, many of the freedom fighters against the Japanese were from a Christian background. The movement for democracy and self-rule is intricately entwined with the Christian revival; many pastors and deacons led the move for freedom from oppression. Korea's Christian martyrs are therefore also held in esteem as national heroes, and Pastor Son holds a place in their hearts much like Gandhi does in India.

Pastor Son went to Pyongyang for seminary, and also spent time in a Japanese seminary under a much-loved and respected (even in korea) Japanese pastor. He was sent to Aeonyang, a leper colony founded by an American doctor and missionary, a Dr. Wilson. Another American missionary by the name of Forsythe also figures prominantly in the spread of both Christianity and Western medicine. All of the western medical hospitals in South korea were founded through missionary societies.

It ws at the leper colony that Pastor Son found his calling. He would go directly into the foulest contagion ward and embrace the lepers without fear of contamination. His gift was that of love and compassion, "The Atomic Bomb of Love" as the Koreans call him. His congregation welcomed him with open arms, and his critics soon dissolved. He was a rather plain (nerdy) man, with thick round glasses and a homely face, but even in photos, there is a light shining in his eyes.

He was captured by the Japanese for his fervent preaching, but never tortured as so many prisoners were. He spent seven years in prison, then was inexplicably released.

Meanwhile, his family had grown up. It was 1948, and his two sons were in college, preparing to study abroad in America. The eldest lead the Christian society at the university, but the Communists were becoming ever more present on campus. One day, they came to his door, and took him out. His younger brother also was taken, and, knowing that his elder brother would be shot, pleaded that his older brother be released. Witnesses say that even as he was being blindfolded, elder brother pleaded with them to repent of their deeds, and accept the grace of God. They shot him, and his brother broke free to hold his dying brother. He also pleaded with them to repent, saying that his faith was the same as his brother's faith. He stood up, and spread his arms out, saying that he would die like his Lord and Savior. They shot him in the chest, and he died next to his brother.

Pastor Son received the news as he was praying in the chapel with grace. He expressed concern for the souls of the murderers, stating that his sons were already within the gates of heaven, but the murderers faced hell for their sin. He then adopted one of the murderers into the family (a slight acquaintance of the brothers).

A few years later, the Communists came for Pastor Son. They took him and several of the elders out into an orchard. Pastor Son kept on preaching, even after his lips were ripped by his tormentors. they shot him and his followers in the orchard. The next day, his wife gave birth to the future Pastor Son.

We visited the leper colony on out trip (the old folks non-contagious ward). The building was in poor repair; there was no air conditioning, and the residents were sitting on the floor. On the plaque, it said that First Presbytarian in Orlando and a church in Germany had given them the current building in 1986, but it didn't appear much, if any, money had come in for a long time. The volunteer workers did the best they could, swatting flies, feeding the residents (many without fingers or feet), and wheeling them about. I hope someone reading this can raise some funds for the Wilson Rehabilitation center in Aeongyang.....

At the colony, we met an 82 year old resident who lived there. H came to the colony with leprosy (now called Hansen's disease) when he was 19. Although cured, as many there are (the contagion ward is on an island off the coast), he was blind and lost the use of his fingers, so he never left. Through an interpreter, we learned that he was the last survivor of a group of residents who had memorized the entire New Testement. Those who could read helped those who were blind memorize by listening; they also learned later on through cassette tapes. As he said, "My eyes and hands don't work, but my ears and brain work fine, and as long as I have a mouth that works, I will praise the Lord."

We pressed on to Chin-do, a fishing village, apparently famous for anchovies. All along the bay were set nets where the locals grew seaweed (a staple of a healthy Korean diet), and fishing boats lined the wharfs. We took a crazy, winding jaunt into our van through the dockside streets of the village; it was so narrow that only one car could take these streets at a time. There was a boat repair yard where quite a bit of welding was going on.

We left the island, and went back into Yeonso. We spread out on the beach, enjoying the fact that the rain had stopped. It was warm, but not too warm, and vey peaceful. As a beachfront, it wasn't much to look at, but a welcome respite nevertheless.

We then wended our way up to Kumsan church, a museum example of a typical Presbytarian missionary church. We read the letters of the missionaries, and looked around the simple, yet strangely attractive meeting room. There was a curtain diagonal to the pulpit; the men sat on one side, and the women on the other. The pastor, because it was diagonal, could see both sides evenly.

We then drove around looking for accomodations, and were arrested by a glow in the dark castle motel. Intrigued, we pulled off the highway, and found ourselves in a Vegas-like strip of neon-lit Motels. They were set on a hill, and many of them were themed, such as "The El Dorado," the above mentioned castle (there were actually two) and our more modest choice, "The Blue Park." It was clean and affordable, but a little on the shady side. In the lobby, I went over to investigate their movie collection, and discovered it was an impressive array of pornography and "C" action movies. In the morning, I saw several "calling cards" from various heavily, and not very attractively, made-up women. I slept Korean-style that night...on the floor.

We again got up early, and went to Jeam-ri, a historical site of martyrdom and nationalism (a national treasure). At this site, the Japanese had used the church membership list to track down the families in Jeam-ri, and called them to the church. They checked them off the list in roll-call fashion, left the building, nailed the doors shut, set it on fire, and began firing at the building. They then systematically burned the village down, and moved on to other villages suspected of being involved in the March First Movement (Korea's Declaration of Independance). When the scattered survivors came to bury the dead, they found all the bodies melted together in the center of the church and buried them in a mass grave. In 1982, the bodies were unearthed, separated, and reburied. The Japanese offered an official apology, and helped fund the building of the museum and the exhuming efforts. Jeam-ri no longer exists, as it was obliterated, but the museum stands on the land it once occupied.

We then went north to the Protestant martyr's museum, a very impressive collection and history lesson starting with the missionaries and continuing into our century. There were beautifully (if grotesque) rendered watercolors of village scenes, soldiers, and torture scenes. The story was told through pictures, paintings, and mercifully well-translated placards. The third floor was devoted to portraits of about 300 martyrs of the faith- men, women, and missionaries. This was not translated, but I wad told that each brass plate told the individual story. The last frame was a mirror, and it read "Are you the next martyr?"

We returned to Seoul that evening, and cobbled together the Wednesday night worship service.

I mused on the lengths that people went to in the name of Christ. I am in awe of this kind of love. I think if it came down to it, I would stand for my faith, even if I died for it. Part of this is sheer stubborness, I must admit, but what does a Christian have to lose, after all? There is a point beyond bodily pain in which we enter into a realm of no pain. What a gracious and loving gift to give to the Savior of the Universe. These people are remembered for their compassion and love, not their sacrifice.

Given the current political ramifications of martyrdom, I tried to come to terms with the idea of faith being worth dying for. Muslim fundamentalists do it in the name of later rewards; Christians do it as servants of love and compassion. Which is more likely to be fruitful to the world?

JOURNAL: Malls on Saturday: DON'T DO IT!

First, a quick note that I will likely be offline for a few days, as I am on "vacation" until Thursday. Where am I going, you ask? I don't know but I have a bus ticket, and therin lies a story....

I decided I was going to the Express Bus Terminal in Seoul (via subway) to get a ticket for Monday to GYEONGJU. Now, please note that Romanized spelling of Korean names is up to the speller, based only on what day it is, how many shots of soju he has had, and the windspeed. Generically speaking, all the guidebooks use this spelling. Therin lies the difficulty, as no one bothered to show the Hang'ul (Korean) spelling of this name...

I got to the right subway stop, and was instantly thrust into a huge mob of people. I have no idea where they came from, but I had no choice but to go the same direction, or be run over. I came clear of the crowd, and found myself in one of the many impromptu markets that spring up in subway stations all over Seoul. I both love an hate these markets, as they always offer intersting and rather random merchandise, and I find myself wandering over "just to look" in spite of myself. You can buy things as diverse as socks, clothespins, and wallets all from the same merchant. I love the blouses that I see the women wearing, and many of them come from these street/subway merchants. Sadly, though, if you are not a size six or less with B-cups, you will not fit anything...That is the frustrating part. I absolutely adore the way Korean women dress, but, although I am the right height, my boobs and less-than-svelte figure make shopping a pain. I desperately need a few new shirts, as my washer is evil, but I will have to just patch, patch, patch, I guess...

Today, I found two shoe markets that were very tempting. Shoes in Korea are very cheap (about $7-$10 per pair) and very trendy. Like Asians the world over, Koreans are attracted to impractical high spike heels with no backs. There were also some nice wedges that I was tempted by, but they were too big. I may go back and get them, the design is something I can alter to make them fit better. From the selection of shoes offered, and my strange obssession with feet after hitting the shoe marts, I gather that Koreans have short but wide feet, just like me. At least there is one thing I can fit into and still be comfortable!

Well, to continue my story....

I got out of the mob, and saw a new mob coming, so I stood to the side and consulted my map. Most of the time, the signage in the subways is excellent, but apparently not here. In the corner, was a beggarwoman with what appeared to be an advanced case of leprosy. I reached into my pockets to see what I had to give her, maybe a few coins, but the crowd was bearing down on me. I suddenly made eye contact with a middle-aged woman coming down the crowded escalator, and asked her where the bus terminal was. She looked confused for a moment, then pointed up the stairs and to the right. I thanked her in Korean, but I must have still looked a bit confused, because she suddenly very firmly grabbed my hand and steered me back up the escalator. She said she would show me.

I thought she would abandon me at the top of the stairs but she didn't; she kept a firm grip on me and rushed me throguh the crowd. This lady couldn't have been taller that 4'11", but she was very strong and fast. I was knocking into people left and right, but she just kept pulling me along. She got me to the gate of the subway, and dragged me to the window. She said something to the guy; he let me through without a ticket, and she was off like a racehorse again. There was an underground mall (I later found out it was the largest underground mall in Asia!) coming up, and she dragged me right into another crowd. I couldn't see much, as I am short for a Caucasian but average for an Asian, all I could feel was her firm grip and the bodies of strangers being knocked back by my clumsy attempts to dodge children and pregnant women (I figured the rest could fend for themselves!). We went up an escalator, and there was the bus terminal. She brought me to the main window at first, but I indicated I needed to go to "information." She took me over there (even though it was clearly marked) and talked to the lady. She got me in the right line, and I got my ticket. I thanked her profusely, and she vanished back into the crowd.

The lady at the window spoke excellent English, or so it would seem. I showed her the name (in English ) of the town I wanted, and she handed me a ticket. She confirmed the gate number with me, but the name of the town on the ticket was GWANGJU. I noted this only after I had left the line. Now, one of the other possible destinations I was toying with was GWANJU, but decided against it because it will be too hot, and it is also a little remote. The name of the town I wanted was GYEONGJU. It looks like I will be going to a town that starts with a "g," but I have no idea which one. One is two hours away, and another is four; they are on opposite sides of the penninsula....I guess I can chalk it up to another "movie clip" adventure.

Well, I looked around in the mall a bit; there was a large bookstore which had a reasonable English section. They also, for whatever reason, sold sewing machines in there...I went into a department store called "Shinsegae" which is very "Macy's" - like. There were eleven floors, all connected by escalator; it is a bit of a journey to get down, as I found out.

I got back on the train, as this mall didn't seem to have much to offer, and got of at the COEX Mall. This was my folly. As crowded as the other mall had been, this one had twice the people. Once again, I had to go along with the tide of humanity. The COEX Mall is part of the World Trade Center complex; I believe COEX stands for "country exchange." There were quite a few Western stores and restaurants in this place; I counted two Baskin Robbins, an Outback, a Dunkin' Donuts, a Starbucks, and a 7-11. There were also the staple American clothing brand stores and The Body Shop. I wandered into various clothing sotres, but the merchants all seemed amused when I asked about "big" clothes....One young man helpfully pointed out the T-shirt section to me...in the men's department. I have seen plump Koreans around, dressed like everyone else (usually middle-aged women), so they must be shopping somewhere...Their body-build is similar to mine (short-waisted, and, well, short), so I know I would look well in the fashion lines. I was tempted to pull aside some of these middle-aged mamas to ask where they shopped, but my Korean is still developmental and I didn't know the words to tactfully ask in Korean.

Feelinglike an elephant among the gazelles, I pushed my way through. I noticed I was getting some odd stares (more than usual), and suddenly realized why. Some of my clothes are fitting looser, but I think this is due to my evil washing machine rather than weight-loss; I have to hang dry everything, and knit stretches. Well, apparently the top I was wearing has stretched a bit in the neck....to put it bluntly, my scoop-necked bra was visible at certain moments, and both men and women were looking...I certainly hope the women were looking out of envy; it would make me feel so much bettter after navigating through skinny-person land. I retied my top-tie for modesty's sake, and went on my way.

I passed an eclectic home-decor shop and was immediately arrested by the display. This place was packed, and I could see why. In the front of the store was a mound of pillows. Prominently displayed was a group of anatomically-correct booby-pillows! They were firm but squishy, and had erect rubber nipples fastened on them. Everyone was playing with them and squishing them, young, old, children. No one seemed embarassed or concerned, so I decided not to be. Upon further examination, I found them to be neck pillows; you rest the back of your neck in the clevage. There were also bone pillows, bow tie pillows, and any other thing you can think of in the general shape of a neck pillow, interspersed among the boob pillows.The rest of the store was also very browse-worthy, if a bit mixed up in styles.

In the center of the mall, there is a stage where young hip-hop performers and breakdancers perform. The fist time I went by, there wasn't much going on except some apathetic skinny girls doing a bump-and-grind (not very skillfully), but the second time, there were a couple of quick and acrobatic young men breakdancing and popping with amzing agility, speed, and balance. I have seen quite a bit of breakdancing, but these guys had MOVES. The guy in the red shirt was especially good, not very attractive, but skilled.

I also apparently nearly ran over a Korean celebrity; there were girls and cameras surrounding him, but they were in motion; he just grinned under his sunglasses. He was talking to the group and answering questions. He was snazzily dressed, and seeemed poised and at ease with the crowd. I passed by.

I got to the end of the mall, where there was a movie theater, but couldn't make heads or tails on a) what was playing and b) how to buy tickets, so I headed back. I caught the subway (I had to stand most of the journey) and came home.

JOURNAL: Bad bad Kimch'i!

I am a bit sick tonight; I expect it is all the Korean food mixed with the extra pollution in the air from all the rain. I had some bad kimch'i yesterday afternoon in the cafeteria; it was apparently soaked in fish oil or something. Not only did it taste aweful, but I choked on the cabbage. I almost threw up in front of everyone (my bile rises even thinking about it now). I am not sure why I have such an aversion to fish, but I do. The curry that went with it was, rather perversely, not spicy at all. That night, they served kimch'i friend rice; I ate the scrambled egg that accompanies every Korean meal (they even put them in sandwiches!), but could not face another round of bad kimch'i. I normally like it, in moderation, but the school's variety leaves much to be desired. Tonight's meal was rather bland; cold noodles in soy milk with sesame. It didn't really taste like anything, but my stomach still protested. I managed to worry down a few bites before giving up. Normally, the food is pretty tasty, but this week, it is just bad. I can't wait until sandwich day....
On Tuesday night, I had a very good meal, though; I believe it is called galbi. They bring a bunch of sauces, veggies, and chilis out to you. They then bring live coals out and set them in the middle of the table. The waitress got the meat started on the grill after snipping it apart with scissors (Koreans use scissors much as we use cutting knives), and left us to watch the meat cook. We were chatting away, and when the waitress came back, the meat was rather well done...she stayed and grilled the meat for us. I was privately amused that the three North American guys I was with could not even grill properly.

To continue... You grab a leaf (bay, cabbage, or lettuce), place the raw carrots, onions, and cabbage shavings on your leaf with a little sauce, then dip you piece of meat in a green sauce and place it on top. You then fold the leaf and eat the whole mess, sort of like a Korean taco. It is yummy and surprisingly filling. Oh yes, and you drink cheap beer with it.

Well, I guess some of my adoring fans (all two of you) want to know what it is like teaching in Korea, so here is a run-down:

I teach grades 1-6 (eight classes a day) in a rather exclusive hakwon. The classes are divided by ability and grade level. They are also divided by Returnees (those who have lived in North America or the U.K.) and Gifted-and-Talented (those who have exceptional ability in English and plan to study abroad). No speaking Korean is allowed within the school grounds. We hand out detentions and notes home just like at any other school. I teach reading, writing, vocabulary, grammar, and debate (upper level).

Hakwons are academies, much like American after-school programs, but more intensive. There are Arts hakwons, Taekwondo hakwons, Math hakwons, but most of all English hakwons. All students must pass an exhaustive comprehensive exam to graduate from high school, so it behooves the children to get extra attention in this area (males must serve a mandatory two years in the military as well).

A Korean child's number-one job is school. I have had more than one child break down in tears because they did not get a perfect score on something. Their parents push hard, sometimes to the point of harassing the teachers (sound familiar?). Most of the parents are reasonable, however, and I find the children very well-adjusted in soul and body. They are respectful of authority unless you screw up.

The other day, I mispronounced a student's name, and the class made fun of him for most of the period (I probably inadvertently called him "cabbage-head" or something). When I reprimanded the class for their obnoxious behavior, they suddenly began making fun of ME! Although startled by this behavior, I got my own in. We had a few minutes left over in class. I went up to the board, and wrote four names: Hepsibah, Methusalah, Jehosophat, and Mephistopheles. I then calmly asked the would-be rebels to correctly pronounce the names. "Methusalah" was especially difficult, as the Koreans cannot distinguish easily between "r" and "l" ( the cafeteria lady told one teacher that she was serving "flied lice" one night). I then moralized, after much laughter, that it is very rude to make fun of someone (for example, a "foreign" teacher!) who is new to one's culture and unable to pronounce words properly at first.

There are a few trouble-makers, but their parents are pretty well aware of how their children act, and punish accordingly if word gets home. I even have a well-known (in Korea) child movie star; he is very talkative, and always has to be the center of attention, but he is also respectful of authority.There are, of course, a few spoiled brats, but they are not flat-out rebelling, which helps. I have a few students whom I suspect might do well with a course of Ritalin, however; fotunately, I am experienced in these matters.

As I said, I work at a rather exclusive hakwon; they strenuously screen the students who want to get in. As a result, the children I get are unusually bright. This is both a good and bad thing. Good, becuase it makes teaching easier; bad, because they see right through the typical "teacher bag o' tricks" for classroom management! I have to always be on my toes because they remember everything. These students are excellent at retaining information, if it is sufficiently demonstrated, but rather poor on creative thinking and problem solving. Definately left-brainers. My first-graders are the exception; I do lots of artsy things with them. I have a few excellent writers, and I encourage them to develop their creative talents, even though it is not a vey Korean thing to do.

We work with Korean staff; the Korean teachers often act as liasons between the English teachers and the parents. It is nice, because we don't have to deal directly with culture-clash. The downside of all the academic pressure is that the kids sometimes have meltdowns. I occasionally see children (especially the more sensitive girls) silently crying. I have learned that you do not offer comfort because they will absolutely deny that anything is wrong, even the littlest ones. Instead, they seem to get hold of themselves, and go on with their work. It shames them to have crying acknowledged. Koreans do not acknowledge the uglier emotions unless necessary.

I have one fifth-grade class that manifests this tendency by arguing all the time. They pick on each other constantly. One girl in the class especially amuses me; her demanor is that of a world-weary cynical thirty-year-old even though she can't be more than nine or ten. She has a very low but strong voice, kind of Tallulah Bankhead. She will be a pretty woman soon, I think, but the boys don't know quite how to handle her now! This fourth-grader called the boys, who were arguing, a bunch of "pessimists," (they were whining) but they reacted like she had called them a buch of assholes. I am afraid I cracked a smile at that one, because I knew that she knew what that word meant. The boys later retaliated by drawing rather clinically accurate caricatures of her as a monster. She tattled on them, and they grinned when I confronted them. I made them apologize, which they did; she said nothing, but firmly set her chin, glared at them, and nodded. Again, I was in serious danger of losing it. Instead, I used the boys as an object lesson for the word "discourteous."

My day is long and hectic, but I still manage to get a lot done. I have a two hour paid prep period, and consider it my biggest blessing! I have only had to come in early once to mark papers. I do come in a half hour early on Mondays to get a head start on lesson plans, but I don't mind as it is nice and quiet.

If my readers have any questions, please post them under comments, and I will answer what I legally can.

JOURNAL: Motorcycles, Churches, and Acts of God

I finally found a church with a wonderful English service. It is a very intercultural church called Youngnak Church (Presbytarian, I believe). The pastor is an American out of Oklahoma with a degree from Dallas Theological Seminary; as you can probably guess, he is Baptist in background. He is married to a Korean woman, and has two teenage daughters. The church's purpose is to provide a home base for people staying in Korea. There is a good mix of young and old; there is also a good praise and worship team. On their website, you can see the service I attended yesterday (3:00 p.m.) at http://www.myiwe.com.

I was introduced to this place by one of my Korean-American co-workers. He took a tour group to one of the royal palaces and Insadong on Saturday, and he invited me to church. I really liked the woman who came with him; she is involved with the Children's Ministry, I believe. This nice young man offered me a ride to church on his motorbike, which he had borrowed from the pastor. I declined, and it is a good thing I did. On Saturday night, he was in an accident involving a cab passenger opening the door right into him as he was riding by! He is on crutches now.

I was really impressed by how friendly and welcoming the people were. I ended up going out to dinner with a group of them; I was the only Caucasian, but there were some Korean-Americans along as well. We had great fun talking and telling stories during dinner (we ate Italian!). I listened with much interest as the debate over dogmeat erupted; most are against it ("dogs are pets, not food!"). Dogmeat is apparently good for the skin and the health. Not surprising really, considering that it shares 99 % of the protein make-up of human meat! I guess it is akin to beef in taste; I have no current plans to find out.

I fully intend to attend next week. I like the laid-back, but respectful atmosphere.

Journal: Chasing Tail

The heat this week is really getting to me; I am so tired of being sticky. I had to wear one of my fall button ups today due to a laundry crisis; I won't let that happen again anytime soon. In a way, I am used to the heat, but I still find it tiring to walk the 20 minutes to work. Being locked in a small classroom with 12 sweating "in progress" adolescents in a country known for its lack of deodorant was not exactly pleasant either, especially since the A/C is under repair.

I have made a "friend" in the neighborhood; I have no idea what his name is, but I see him everyday. He apparently works for one of the many restaurants in my neighborhood; I see his father/uncle also on the street trying to hawk up business. As near as I can tell, they also act as an informal posse of traffic cops. I have also seen him on one of the "Scooter terrors" that roam Seoul's sidewalks in search of fresh pedestrian targets. His uncle/father (there is a family resemblance) possesses the unique talent of being able to sleep standing up while waiting for business. I peered under his broad hat one day in passing, and discovered he was fast asleep!

My "friend" speaks good English, and always greet me or waves; he asks me a new question each time I see him. He is horribly skinny, but has a nice face. He is rather bold for a sober Korean; most Korean men appear to be afraid of "foreigners," especially the women, and will not even approach us. With enough soju, however, they tend to become rather aggressive, or so I have been told. I really haven't been here long enough to make judgements. This guy makes eye contact with me, which is a bit unusual. I find eye contact is a great way to shake up my misbehaving students!

As I was just sitting here, the employee of the "PC Bong" at the next terminal very sweetly offered me half of his sweet potato pastry. How sweet! I find people here are very kind and giving; I have been the recipient of many generous acts. I try to "pay it forward;" I gave away some of my spiral notebooks today to some of my coworkers. Lined paper is very hard to get here.

Last night, as I was walking home, a young woman approached me, and rather randomly asked whether I spoke Chinese. She is looking for a Chinese teacher, and thought I worked at the neighborhood language school. She had graduated from the girl's high school down the block, and has lived here most of her life. I find that amazing. She was probably in her mid-twenties, and still lived at home. We had a nice chat and then she went her way and I went mine.

Tonight, however, I took one of my infamous "detours," and ended up a half hour later precisely one city block from whence I came! I was yakking away with one of my co-workers, who very kindly lent me the new "Harry Potter" (British edition!), and not paying much attention where I was going....I wandered through some alleyways and a park (where children were still playing at full volume even at ten o clock at night!), dodged a few drunk business men with annoyed wives, and randomly followed a group of mothers with strollers. I was mentally checking the contents of my wallet to see if a taxi was feasable, but then realized I didn't even know the name of my street (the neighborhood is "Gangdang-Gu"). I have not felt that lost in a long time. I suddenly found myself in a familiar place, but could not at first place it. It took me a few minutes to realize I was back on Olympic Parkway.

I considered going back into the wilderness of alleyways to get to the "Mouse House" (where I am now, but decided to take the main drag, even though it meant passing through the fish market site on a sultry evening (you cannot, however hard you try, hold your breath for a Seoul city block!). I made it here ok, after all (too late for Baskin Robbins!). I think I will go home now, and read "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince."

JOURNAL: That Old Time Religion

My "adventure of the week" was a trip to Insadong, the district of Seoul where everyone goes to buy antiques. It was a Saturday afternoon, and very crowded. There were quite a few "foreigners" (us) wandering about; the tourbook assured me that it is a happening place with the ex-pat community.

There were quite a few stalls and stores geared specifically for tourists, so I avoided them with much pleasure (except to buy a cheap, but functional paper fan) and went in search of better quarry. I found out something that the tourbooks do not mention, which is that Insadong is also a very happening modern art community. Among the hawkers selling food, souvenirs, and trinkets, there were stores specializing in modern textile art, lacquer wear, and sculpture. Quite a bit of the art was what you might call functionally abstract, but it was a feast of colors and shapes for the eye. I also discovered, after a climb up a very steep staircase, a bookstore called "Vook" (visual book) which specializes in art books. There were browsing copies of most of the books, and a central area where patrons could sit and browse while sipping drinks from the cafe. I gathered that most of the sitters in there were art students. I fond a rare book on Aubrey Beardsley that I was tempted by, but did not ultimately purchase.

I wandered down some of the crazy, twisting alleyways (where the real antiques can be found), where there are quite a few "local color" restaurants and traditional teahouses. When my Korean improves (it can only get better; it can't get any worse!), I plan to visit one.

The purported antique stores were vastly outnumbered by other stores; even so, there were about a half dozen elderly vendors with their wares spread out on the sidewalk. Most of the antiques were along the line of cookware and furniture. I bought a very charming tea pouring device, with elaborate painting and brasswork for about 30,000 won (a little less than $30). I have a nook in my new apartment that needs filling, and it fits there perfectly. I was also taken by some beautiful silk panel paintings of the Korean tiger (now extinct) in one of the stores; I may go back later to get them if they are still there.

I was both fascinated and bemused when I came upon a vendor selling jade, specifically what one might call antique jade fertility aids. There was no folk art element to these objects; they were straight out jade phallusses, in plain vew. I am talking true-to-life, with veins, furrows, and all...I was a little unnerved by them; the excellent craftsmanship made them look alive (like Michalangelo's "David"), but they were also very green...I wondered what one actually did with them. Were they meant for lonely women passing the time while their husbands were away at war? Did a man with fertility issues put one under his pillow? Did one rub them on the affected area like a magic lamp? I was going to buy one as a conversation piece, but decided I didn't have the nerve (or money). The vendor was giving me a strange look anyway (women are still supposed to be "innocent" around here) so I passed on.

I stepped into one of the many art malls, and instantly became smitten with a lacquer and mother-of-pearl jewelry case. These type of things are a dime a dozen in Korea, but this one was special. The saleslady tried to get me interested in some chintsy tourist knock-off varieties, but I wanted to look at this one. The craftsmanship was superb, and the design was very detailed and intricate (butterflies). She showed me the maker's mark on the bottom, and explained that I had picked a box by a very famous Korean artist( I think she said Pak Sunmyun?). It was 75,000 won. She was willing to bargain a bit, but it was still too rich for my blood. I went upstairs where they had even more of this particular artist's work; a different salesperson also tried to get me to buy. There were two very large jewelry cases with even more fine detail; they were marked at 1 million won ($1000). I may go back later for the small box.

There was a large art mall about halfway down the market where there was an avant garde group of artists from Maryland Institute of Contemporary Art playing with plastic bags. Now, this was one of the hottest days of the summer, so I give them credit for wearing plastic bags over their entire bodies, head and all, and standing in poses (I gues their mamas never told them to keep their faces out of plastic bags!). I shot some video footage with my camera. They then passed out bags to everyone, including the people on the other levels of the mall (it was an open air mall with ramps going up the levels). We were then instructed to make as much noise as possible with the bags; every last person participated, which amazed me. I would love to get an improv troop out here! After we "rustled" for a few minutes, the artists stopped, demonstrated blowing into the bags, and, you guessed it, popped them. On cue, every last spectator blew into their bags and popped them in unison. The End.

I wandered to the end of the street, and found myself at a park. Inside the park was a pagoda (under glass) from the 1400s, carved with Buddhas and human figures. There was also a large
pavillion, garishly but strikingly painted in violent greens, oranges, and reds. It apparently served as a music hall for the royal family in the summer months, but is of even more significance to the Korean nation in a different way. It was here that a group of 4000 university students formally protested the Japanese takeover and subsequent colonization of Korea (sometime in the teens of the twentieth century), with the expected results. At the front of the park is a stone monument with the Korean Declaration of Independence carved in Hang'ul. There is a walkway with several stone relief (carved) panels telling the story of the Japanese takeover. There are panels of bloodshed, bodies lined up in a row on the sidewalks, and a woman being forced onto her knees at swordpoint. The woman is in a traditional hanbok, and I believe she is meant to represent Korea. The panels are quite disturbing, and, although I knew I lacked some knowlege as to their more abstract meaning, I was quite moved. I went and sat on the pavillion steps to catch my breath. A man came by with an old newspaper and requested that I sit on it. I looked around and noticed that everyone else was sitting on newspapers, so I complied (there is an important Buddhist monk buried nearby). I was also the only female.

Inside the pavillion, there was an old man laying on his back with one arm in the air, and one leg over his knee. I soon realized that he was singing; it was a very haunting tune, and brought tears to my eyes. He was very advanced in age, bald, and quite clearly senile (or insane), but his voice was strong, vibrant, and clearly trained at some point. His voice held such sorrow and expression; I wondered if it was a love ballad he was singing, or maybe a commemoration for those who had died. I wondered if he had been a performer. I listned to his outpouring of sorrow until the song ended. He started another song, but the mood was broken when a group of old coots began arguing loudly, with wild gestures and angry faces.

There were many elderly people sitting around in the park. On my way into the park, one of them had gesticulated at me, and given me a thumbs up. As I went towards the commemoration panels, an old man and his wife shouted at me and gave me hostile looks. Clearly, there was something going on that I didn't know about (Bush go braugh!). On my way out of the panelled walkway, I saw the old man and his wife again. They looked up at me as I passed by, and I smiled and gave them a deep, respectful bow. I think it worked, because they were silent after that.

On my way home, I stopped briefly at the Presbytarian church on my block. I live in a VERY Korean neighborhood (only one other foreigner) so I get stared at quite a bit. The man at the desk, with English less-than-stellar, said that they had an English service at 11 am. I attended this morning, and it was decidedly NOT in English. It occured to me that the man I had spoken to misunderstood me; there were Koreans there who could speak English enough to tell me where to go. The sermon, as a result, was completely lost on me. I very much enjoyed the misuc; the choir was fantastically good, and I recognized the tunes, if not the words, of several old hymns. The choir sang "Amazing Grace" in Korean; the arrangement was rather Eastern, but strangely striking. They also have a small orchestra. The church is very full; there are four services, and there were five busloads of people attending the service I went to (I sat out of sight in the balcony). The resulting traffic jam on the narrow streets after the service was quite a sight; there are two rival grocery stores on either side of the street, and the hawkers chose the moment of absolute suspension (five busloads of people all trying to get down a one way street at the same time) to squawk their wares loudly over the noise of the traffic. The resultant cacaphony was quite amusing.

JOURNAL: Learning to Walk Again

I have a new apartment....yessssss.....No more sewer gas!

My spacious studio apartment has a large bathroom, with an actual shower stall; this is amazing because most of the time, your shower is just a hose on the wall and a drain. There is a large mirror, medicine cabinet, and a western style toilet (another plus). I took a very cold shower yesterday because I did not know that the device I took to be a thermostat turned out to control the hot water; you have to turn it on for about ten minutes before you get warm water. I wish someone had enlightened me before I froze my backside off!

I also have a kitchenette with what purports to be a gas stove, but is actually a glorified hotplate. There is no microwave. It took me several times, and near suffocation from the natural gas, to figure out how to get it to ignite properly. I was so happy I celebrated by boiling a pot of water! The previous tenant had left a big box of Quaker Instant Oatmeal, so I had that for breakfast.

Next I tackled the washing machine. This turned out to be more of a challenge. I easily found the ON button, but was mystified by the other buttons. Like a stupid Westerner, I threw some clothes in and pushed the green button. It seemed to take a long time for the washer to stop, and I suddenly realized it had gone through three or four cycles. Not only that, but the floor was flooded (the washer is on the veranda). I determinedly waited for the next spin cycle to end, then stopped the washer. I looked at the buttons closer, and discovered that it was apparently set on 18 cycles (oh, so that is what that random number means!). You need to preset the cycle number on each part of the wash (filling, spin cycle, rinsing, etc). The machine is not smart, and won't do it for you. Moreover, it doesn't automatically stop, so you have to keep an eye on it. There is no dryer, so my clothes are hung up to dry all over the place right now. They are still not dry because it is very humid in Seoul. I am seriously considering sending my laundry out to be cleaned; it is very cheap around here.

I have not yet figured out the tv. I suspect, by the phalanx of satellite dishes I see in the neighborhood, that cable is a necessary evil. I cannot get a single channel to come in, or figure out how to turn the volume down. I really wish I could speak Korean, so I could read the buttons on the fancy remote...

The funny thing about the apartment is that in some ways, it is ultra modern. I have a keypad entry, and the lights turn on when I come in (motion sensors?).

As for the school, things are hectic, but do-able. On my first day of teaching, one of the girls suddenly got up, walked over to one of the boys, and belted him hard across the back! I don't know what he said, but it must have been pretty good! I took approprate steps, but it was quite unexpected, nevertheless. The boys tease the girls horribly, mostly because they can, I think. Boys and girls separate themselves in this country, I have found, so when a boy acts up, I make him sit next to a girl! I find it most effective. In one class, there is only one boy, and he is very shy as a result!

I am finding I am actually in double culture shock, as the majority of the teachers are Canadian. Most of them have been in Korea for more than a year, and have formed their own social group. Being a bit group-shy, I find it hard to "break-in." On Tuesday, one of my coworkers did take me out for a drink in Itewon, and it was nice. He is a good conversationalist, and has a rather intellectual bent. I think there is something going on next week as one of the teachers is going home. I do feel a bit left out, though, although I still hope to make some friends here. My apartment is isolated from everyone else; I live in a different neighborhood and am still a little lost. I hope things get a little less lonely as time wears on.

RE: Red Light Green Light

Today I explored the subway system and DIDN'T GET LOST! It is actually pretty easy to get around, once you figure out the system. The stations are numbered and color coded. I went into Itewon, the "official tourist district," to purchase a cell-phone. Cell phones, bought new, are ridiculously expensive (about $700-$880 US), but I bought a used motorola (with a camera phone!) for, altogether (charger, minutes, voicemail) 200,000 Won ($180). When you run out of minutes, you simply buy more; no plan, no contract, no sweat. I like this system.

Itewon is a haven for American and Korean G.I.'s, as the"focky focky" shows and bars can attest to. I saw quite a few other "foreigners" (us!) wandering around. I got hopelessly lost and turned around at one point, and went out the wrong gate! I had to turn around and backtrack. I stopped at an Italian restaurant for lunch, and it was a good meal. The area has a slightly sordid air even during the day; here, women smoke on the street (they don't in the rest of Korea; it is vulgar), and some of them have Eurasian children. I saw many Caucasian men with Korean women, and the occasional hippy. Her, it is apparently ok for the cultures to mingle.

There is a part of the district known as "Hooker Hill," but I didn't go that far. My favorite "show" was the loudly advertized "HaHa - HoHo Show;" I guess that is where you go to see the "he-hes." I took some pictures with my new camera phone, but I am completely clueless as to how to get them out of the phone and into my computer.

I have been told it is pretty safe to wander at night; but it is not the locals I am concerned about, it is the other foreigners.

I browsed through the rather extensive name-brand knock off tents. I am on the lookout for the cheesiest tourist souvenir, but most of the things there are predictable, but rather classy. The "Prada" bubble hair elastic bands were sort of amusing. I bought a simple jade necklace; the lady spoke excellent English and was willing to bargain with me because "buisness was bad" due to all the rain today. I also got a garnet necklace.

I am dead beat right now, so I think I will go back home and rest for the evening.

RE: Seoul Food

Sorry, folks, it has been awhile. I don't have any photos yet, but I will soon.

I arrived in Seoul on Monday without much incident. I met a very helpful serviceman on the plane, who generously gave me an extra phone card he had; it took me two days, however, to figure out how to use the payphones (push the RED button twice and hold it down to get a dial tone!). Pay phones are on a phone card basis, rather than coins, I found out. I am working on getting a cellphone this weekend.

The young man who met me at the airport was very helpful; it became apparent after some conversation that he was under the strange impression that many Americans carry firearms. There was also another young man there, and we discovered that we had just missed each other at Regent's College in London! What a small world...My "bodyguard" apparently received faulty directions as to where the school was, and we had to backtrack about ten blocks with all my luggage.

Mr. L (names changed to protect the innocent) met me at the school to take me to my temporary quarters. He is a very nice man, who, get this, has a degree in Theology from a Baptist Seminary in Paraguay! I am in a sublet apartment about a twenty minute walk from the school. I will move into my pemanent housing on Monday, which unfortunately is isolated (different building, different neighborhood) from the rest of the teachers. I do not feel this will help my social life prospects much, and am very dissapointed....It is supposed to be a large and spacious studio, however, a rare commodity in Seoul. I do hope it has a proper shower; my current one is basically a vegetable sprayer that reaches roughly the small of my back in its holder; one expat called it the "elephant hoser."

The school is suprisingly (given the hagwon school reputation) well accomodated. They work you hard, and schedules can change without any warning, but the children are rather well-behaved, although there are a few "instigaters" like in any classroom....The public school discipline is a bit harsh, I guess; this evening, one of the "returnees" (many of the students have lived in North America or great Britain) expressed her shock at being smacked with a wooden dowel because she wouldn't be quiet; she said her teacher in the U.S. only yelled! The other common punishment, which I kinda like the idea of, sadist that I am, is what loosely translates into "the invisible chair." The offending student (usually one who can't sit still) is made to sit like you would in a chair, against the wall, with no chair, and their arms extended out for balance. This punishment is administered for five minutes, and then the student gets to sit down. I bet THAT gets the "wiggles" out (all the students could demonstrate this punishment with ease; I guess you get used to it).

As for the people, more and more random strangers are trying to talk to me in Korean (I just smile and nod!). I am talking people just on the street. Today, a well-dressed young man approached me, made small talk in English, then pressed a pamphlet into my hand. I looked at it a little bit later...it was "The Watchtower" (end of the world variety). Darn it, they have them here, also! People are pretty friendly in general; what strikes me most about Seoul is the number of children. I am guessing that there is a large baby boom going on. For some reason, Korean children are very attracted to me (not so much American); the toddlers in particular will run away from their mothers to stare at me. I usually get a smile from mother and baby. At the school, I tend to get mobbed by the younger students as well. It is rather cool, but scary; I am afraid I might step on one!

I cannot fathom how these people stay so thin, given what they eat. Everything that moves or grows is deep-fried, pickled, or loaded with starch (rice and noodles). A few of the teachers at the school complain about gaining weight as a result. The deep-frying is mostly reserved for street-front restaurant food, but I notice that the stands are very popular. I guess you could call it "Seoul Food." I love k'imchi and a dumpling called molgi, I believe.

I am heading into the antiquing district tomorrow, and will explore some of the palaces. I am signing off, now, as I am very tired.