Springing in Busan

OK, I admit the winter here in Busan really hasn't been that bad. The weather outside was generally bearable enough to hike, and it was relatively dry.

What got me was the lack of heating at my school. It seems that throughout Korea, classrooms and their adjacent hallways, bathrooms, etc. go largely unheated. I've heard the reason for six- to eight-week winter holiday is so schools don't have to shell out to heat the buildings.

At ECC, we never close, and thus we suffered through the cold. We basked in the heated faculty lounge during the five-minute breaks between classes, and then sprinted up the freezing staircases to the barely heated classrooms. We looked forward to the classes in the smallest rooms with the largest number of students because the body heat would make those places warmer. The bathrooms were the worse, and the thought of dropping trou in that little icebox often compelled me to simply hold it until I got home. There were weeks on end when I actually wore long johns to work. And we all taught in our winter coats and scarves.

At the end of February, we had a warm spell, and we were all convinced spring was here. It wasn't. A week later, we got more snow than Busan has seen in years -- that being less than two inches. All day schools were closed, (though hogwons, like the one I work in, were not) and the kids went wild making snowmen and having snowball fights. It was lovely to see the hillsides and trees covered with white, and it made this city, with its tendency toward grunginess, feel pristine for a spell.

Bull-on-bull action

But now, as March draws to a close, it legitimately feels like spring has sprung. Fat, white magnolia blossoms and delicate pink apricot buds are everywhere, along with a colorful array of flowers I can't identify. It's been raining a lot, but the days of sunshine have been magnificent. And with the coming of spring has come a renewed vigor.

I certainly haven't been sedentary during the winter months, but I've also only left Busan once (ski trip to Muju) in that time. Springtime is the start of festival season, and we took in our first as we headed to the town of Cheongdong for the annual Bullfighting Festival, which boasts competitors from Japan and the United States, in addition to Korea.

I was anticipating Spanish bullfighting, involving a matador, gore and an abused, eventually deceased bull. Instead of mentally preparing for the assault, I decided, simply, not to think about it. It turned out to be bull-on-bull action, languid of pace and absent of blood. Two bulls at a time went head to head, slowly pushing either other around the ring. It was exhausting for them, but from the stands it seemed pretty relaxed. The loser was the one who ran away. We made the slow-paced fights more interesting with $1 bets and took breaks to pet the bulls in the field (which would so, not fly in the U.S.) and peruse the food and art booths.

Eating bugs-- well, one bug

It was at one, such booth that I had my first (and last) taste of bandegie, stewed silkworm larvae. Koreans started eating larvae during the Korean War when sources of protein were scarce. I hear that today, it's still popular with the older generation, but less so with the younger set. I've wanted to try it for a year, but unwilling to buy a whole cupful from any of the many street vendors hawking the grubs. A nice street hawker offered me a single silkworm morsel, and I seized the opportunity, quickly uttering thanks and popping the piece in my mouth before I could lose my nerve.

No longer crisp, the leathery exterior took a good chomp to give way. And give way it did, as it gushed its protein-rich innards. Oh, dear god, what is this foulness in my mouth? I clamped my mouth shut, trying to smile as I rushed away and spit it out in the nearest drain. I salute Koreans for enjoying bandegie, but the stuff is not for me. There are few foods that I say this about, but never, ever again.