(Written Oct. 25, 2009)
I hear it's snowing at home. Here, cooler weather has arrived, though cool is relative. It's still T-shirt weather during the day, though the frequent, stiff breezes make a hat a necessary accessory. At night, throw on a hoodie or light jacket and you're good to go. Unless, of course, you're Korean. Then, instead, it's the season for miniskirts and fur jackets.
I'm so relieved by the onset of fall. It's finally pleasant to take a walk or hike, instead of just brutal sweat equity. I no longer sweat while watching TV. They say it was a mild summer, and thank God. I don't know if I would have survived a hot summer. Of course, it's not so much the heat as the humidity, and I'm slowly acclimating.
Along with the season, the face of ECC has changed since I arrived five months ago. Four teachers' contracts have ended, including my roommate, Sarah's. Three went back to their homes in the United States and Canada, while the fourth followed his girlfriend to Norway. They were replaced by Krista of Nova Scotia, Max of New Rochelle, New York and my new roommate, Steven, of Glasgow, Scotland. Steven and I generally accept that we don't like each other very much and try to be civil, despite our drastically different views on cleanliness.
Like, I've mentioned before, most of the people I met when I arrived in Korea have left the country. I'll admit I enjoyed a fair share of alone time for quite a while. But through events hosted by groups like Couchsurfing and Meetup, I'm expending my social circle once again.
Most of my classes are second nature to me now, though we get new books every once in a while that need to be learned. I plan lessons, teach, grade journals, do evaluations, and every 24 days, the cycle repeats itself.
I love my little kids best. I could happily teach those little people all day. The older, mute ones still prompt periodic rages and drive me to drink.
Life has established a comfortable rhythm. 1:30 p.m. to 9 p.m., Monday through Friday, I'm at school. Weekends are peppered with little trips and outings. I go to the gym Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings (and on Saturday, if I'm feeling motivated). And Tuesday and Thursday mornings are occupied by Korean classes.
Yup, for the first time in several years, I'm a student again. I started Korean classes in mid-October and now know a bit of patchwork Korean, though things can only get better from here! It's nice to be able to tell when my students are talking about me and know a few phrases to throw out at them. They're floored by any amount of Korean I speak.
"Teacher! Korean speaking!" squeal the little ones. The older ones snicker into their hands or look at me like I've lost my mind.
Koreans have two number systems, just to complicate things. One system is for counting things, like one apple, two horses. The other system is for everything else. When telling time, you just one system for the hour and the other for the minute. That makes me cry a little inside. You also conjugate your adjectives in Korean, which has illuminated why my students seem to think, "Dog cute" is a complete sentence.
I really want to get to the point where I can proficiently read a menu or have simple conversation with a non-English-speaking Korean. Wish me luck!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Eat the living
Even though the tentacle had been removed from its body for more than a quarter of an hour, it refused to quit wriggling. For a baby octopus, it had a lot of fight.
Finally, it stopped, and after a couple tries, I managed to secure a slippery strip between my metal chopsticks. But it was still too slick and went falling into a dish of chili sauce where the vinegar spice set the limb into a fresh wave of spasms.
Let me tell you -- it's weird to watch your food die slowly.
But there was no turning back now. Spearing the little morsel again, I shoved it into my mouth and bit down hard into the chewy flesh. Barely any taste at all, I noticed. Good.
I relaxed; stopped chewing for a moment. Bad move. The suckers on the little let suctioned to my tongue. A quick shot of soju and it was down the hatch. I hear you have eat the adults more quickly lest the suckers suck your esophagus shut. That's a little more danger than I usually like in a meal.
Five of us had congregated at the famous, seaside Jagalchi Fish market to celebrate the Fish Market Festival and offer the merchants our business. Founded during the Korean War by Korean women, the massive indoor market is known for its salty fish mongresses and their exceptional array of fresh and dried seafood.
Sea squirts, sea cucumbers, muscles, fish, squid, sea urchins and dozens of other oceanic creatures flounder and squirm in huge aquariums waiting to end up on your dinner table.
This is the sort of outing you need locals for. We perused the market with ShunMi and Dongjin picking out the best baby octopus, scallops, squid, flat fish, sea cucumber and two types of sea cucumbers. Clad in knee-high, red galoshes, plastic apron and elbow-length, bright yellow gloves, the fish monger lady deposited our lunch to be into a a blue bucket and led us toward the restaurant on the second floor.
One of the larger fish made a break for it on the second floor landing. He leaped from the bucket in his desperation but was quickly wrangled and converted into a delicious fish stew in spicy broth.
Another fish was seared and topped with slabs of tender radish, greens and a savory chunky chili paste, while the scallops were steamed without any accouterments and all the more delectable for it. The flat fish, squid, sea cucumber and octopus were all sashimied. And while it was certainly a cultural experience to try all the raw food, I think I'd only ever order the fish sashimi again.
The rest seemed to be so chewy without a while lot of flavor payoff. Still, all in all, a most memorable and delicious meal.
Check out photos and video of the meal on my Facebook page, album "Eat the living."
Finally, it stopped, and after a couple tries, I managed to secure a slippery strip between my metal chopsticks. But it was still too slick and went falling into a dish of chili sauce where the vinegar spice set the limb into a fresh wave of spasms.
Let me tell you -- it's weird to watch your food die slowly.
But there was no turning back now. Spearing the little morsel again, I shoved it into my mouth and bit down hard into the chewy flesh. Barely any taste at all, I noticed. Good.
I relaxed; stopped chewing for a moment. Bad move. The suckers on the little let suctioned to my tongue. A quick shot of soju and it was down the hatch. I hear you have eat the adults more quickly lest the suckers suck your esophagus shut. That's a little more danger than I usually like in a meal.
Five of us had congregated at the famous, seaside Jagalchi Fish market to celebrate the Fish Market Festival and offer the merchants our business. Founded during the Korean War by Korean women, the massive indoor market is known for its salty fish mongresses and their exceptional array of fresh and dried seafood.
Sea squirts, sea cucumbers, muscles, fish, squid, sea urchins and dozens of other oceanic creatures flounder and squirm in huge aquariums waiting to end up on your dinner table.
This is the sort of outing you need locals for. We perused the market with ShunMi and Dongjin picking out the best baby octopus, scallops, squid, flat fish, sea cucumber and two types of sea cucumbers. Clad in knee-high, red galoshes, plastic apron and elbow-length, bright yellow gloves, the fish monger lady deposited our lunch to be into a a blue bucket and led us toward the restaurant on the second floor.
One of the larger fish made a break for it on the second floor landing. He leaped from the bucket in his desperation but was quickly wrangled and converted into a delicious fish stew in spicy broth.
Another fish was seared and topped with slabs of tender radish, greens and a savory chunky chili paste, while the scallops were steamed without any accouterments and all the more delectable for it. The flat fish, squid, sea cucumber and octopus were all sashimied. And while it was certainly a cultural experience to try all the raw food, I think I'd only ever order the fish sashimi again.
The rest seemed to be so chewy without a while lot of flavor payoff. Still, all in all, a most memorable and delicious meal.
Check out photos and video of the meal on my Facebook page, album "Eat the living."
Fire in the sky
Five massive flaming birds careened across the night sky. They flew like comets, fire streaming from their tail, eventually burning themselves out to reveal their red and blue bodies.
Behind then, a symphony of fireworks exploded. They came from above and below, in the shapes of hearts, cubes, palm trees. Some were fast, rapid-fire bursts, violent in their beauty. Others were slow and meandering. Choreographed to music, it was enough to bring tears to the eyes of the 1.3 million spectators on the Gwangali Beach.
The Fifth Annual Busan Fireworks Festival didn't begin until 8 p.m., but we'd heard about the crowds. So to play it safe, we arrived at 1 p.m. -- a party of foreigners to be reckoned with, along with a few sympathetic Korean friends thrown into the mix. We claimed a patch of sand and spread our blankets and towels at what we hoped would be front and center of the big show -- it was.
Attack on the sand
Around us, the party was just getting started. Food vendors sold the requisite fish cakes and a dozen different types of squid. A three-story-tall soju bottle was inflated, and a few of us took turns posing with our favorite Korean poison. Streets performers showed off traditional drumming and folk dancing. We walked around, finally settling back on the sand with decks of card and new friends.
As evening set in , the crowds came out in earnest, and we were pressed on all sides by fire-loving people. Massive TV screens had been set up on barges just off the beach, and a series of performances and speeches began.
During one speech, I realized I'd been sitting with my legs pretzled under me for hours, and I could no longer feel them. So I stood to stretch. Apparently, I was grossly offending an aw-ju-ma (middle-aged women with notoriously bad fashion senses and even worse manners) behind me because I was suddenly assaulted by slapping, grabbing hands trying to force me back down.
Now, you all know, I don't take well to being manhandled, and I whipped around shouting, "What the hell is wrong with you? Is it so hard to be polite? Is it so hard to say please, juseyo?"
I raged until Shun-mi, being a local, intervened and sent the woman back to her blanket. I, of course, was still incensed, and retaliation was certainly in order. So, each member of our group (now about 30 strong) took turns standing up and doing a little dance while the rest of us wei gooks (foreigners) cheered them on with all the volume we could muster.
Not the most mature move, I know, but relatively benign, and, really, most of the people around us got a kick out of the wei gooks making fools of themselves. It was a gas.
Great balls of fire
At 8 p.m. sharp, the countdown began, and 10 seconds later, the first of 85,000 fireworks lit up the sky. This year's theme was 'love,' and the show was absolutely gorgeous and equally touching. For 45 minutes, more than one million people ooh-ed and ah-ed, their faced turned toward the heavens.
The end of the show left us breathless, exhilarated and in desperate need of a bathroom. Leave it to Becca, tall and blond as she is, to elbow us through the crowds and into a washroom in record time. God bless her.
While others in the group were ready to continue the festivities, I was spent. There was nothing else we could do that night to top that show. Best to end on a high.
Behind then, a symphony of fireworks exploded. They came from above and below, in the shapes of hearts, cubes, palm trees. Some were fast, rapid-fire bursts, violent in their beauty. Others were slow and meandering. Choreographed to music, it was enough to bring tears to the eyes of the 1.3 million spectators on the Gwangali Beach.
The Fifth Annual Busan Fireworks Festival didn't begin until 8 p.m., but we'd heard about the crowds. So to play it safe, we arrived at 1 p.m. -- a party of foreigners to be reckoned with, along with a few sympathetic Korean friends thrown into the mix. We claimed a patch of sand and spread our blankets and towels at what we hoped would be front and center of the big show -- it was.
Attack on the sand
Around us, the party was just getting started. Food vendors sold the requisite fish cakes and a dozen different types of squid. A three-story-tall soju bottle was inflated, and a few of us took turns posing with our favorite Korean poison. Streets performers showed off traditional drumming and folk dancing. We walked around, finally settling back on the sand with decks of card and new friends.
As evening set in , the crowds came out in earnest, and we were pressed on all sides by fire-loving people. Massive TV screens had been set up on barges just off the beach, and a series of performances and speeches began.
During one speech, I realized I'd been sitting with my legs pretzled under me for hours, and I could no longer feel them. So I stood to stretch. Apparently, I was grossly offending an aw-ju-ma (middle-aged women with notoriously bad fashion senses and even worse manners) behind me because I was suddenly assaulted by slapping, grabbing hands trying to force me back down.
Now, you all know, I don't take well to being manhandled, and I whipped around shouting, "What the hell is wrong with you? Is it so hard to be polite? Is it so hard to say please, juseyo?"
I raged until Shun-mi, being a local, intervened and sent the woman back to her blanket. I, of course, was still incensed, and retaliation was certainly in order. So, each member of our group (now about 30 strong) took turns standing up and doing a little dance while the rest of us wei gooks (foreigners) cheered them on with all the volume we could muster.
Not the most mature move, I know, but relatively benign, and, really, most of the people around us got a kick out of the wei gooks making fools of themselves. It was a gas.
Great balls of fire
At 8 p.m. sharp, the countdown began, and 10 seconds later, the first of 85,000 fireworks lit up the sky. This year's theme was 'love,' and the show was absolutely gorgeous and equally touching. For 45 minutes, more than one million people ooh-ed and ah-ed, their faced turned toward the heavens.
The end of the show left us breathless, exhilarated and in desperate need of a bathroom. Leave it to Becca, tall and blond as she is, to elbow us through the crowds and into a washroom in record time. God bless her.
While others in the group were ready to continue the festivities, I was spent. There was nothing else we could do that night to top that show. Best to end on a high.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
