Part of the fun of working at an English school is giving new students their English nicknames. It makes taking roll a lot easier for us non-Korean speakers and injects an element of fun for the kids who get to have an alias.
We've got "Annas," "Alices," "Jennys," "Johns," "Toms," and "Ryans" in spades. The foreign teachers enjoy evoking our loved ones from home by giving students their names. If you're reading this blog, you probably have a little Korean student named after you.
However, Western names are not without their problems. Koreans can't distinguish between the "r" and the "l," so the "Ryans" are calling themselves "Lion" most of the time. "Lizzy" has been "Rizzy" for the last three years. "Rosalie" thought her name was "Rosary" for the longest time. And God bless the child I named "Lauren." The combination of "l" and "r" is just too much to handle.
Koreans also don't have the "f," "v" or "z" sounds. Instead, they default to the "p," "b" and "j" sounds respectively, which has resulted in several "Pranks," "Binces," "Preds," and "Bickys." And we're never quite sure if some kids are named "Jack" or "Zack." And this has nothing to do with names, but I'm constantly reminding the kids that we visit the "zoo," not the "Jew." Oy.
Many of us try to inject a little color into the naming process, and some of us make the mistake of letting the kids pick their own names. And as a result, we have a "Tupac," "Fidel," "Jupiter," "Ruler," and "Line" among the students. American pop culture also has its toehold, and kids have named themselves "Harry Potter," "Michael Jackson," and "Bella," (from the Twilight series, for those of your who are seriously out of touch.)
Every once in a while, we suggest a name that the kids balk at but won't tell us why. That's when we rush to our Korean co-teachers who blushingly tell us that "Jill" mean "vagina," or that "Sheeba" is far too close to the Korean word for "fuck you." Oh, and "Maggie" means "catfish," and really, what girl wants to be saddled with that?
So, we giggle and continue to brainstorm. One day, you'll run into a Korean "Tupac" or "Octavian" and know that some young English teacher with too much time on his hands was up to no good.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Cheering for Cherry Blossoms
(Written mid-April)
Busan has gone soft. The harsh right angles of the concrete jungle have been rounded. Everything has taken on a fluffy, downy appearance. Things are mellowed; the usual roar of the city muffled and replaced with the buzzing of thousands of busy bees concerned only with sipping the fresh nectar from the newly blossomed cherry trees.
Millions of the palest pink flowers have taken over the city, and indeed the entire Korean peninsula. Some say they were brought here by the invading Japanese. Others say they've been here all along, and it's the Japanese who stole them back to the island nation. And so the age-long feud between these two Asian nations, who love to hate each other, continues.
Individually, the cherry blossom is a simple, unassuming flower. It's in the presence of hundreds of thousands of its brothers that it derives its powers of shock and awe.
Not contented with viewing the new foliage only in Busan, we traveled to the cherry blossom capital of Korea -- Jin Hae, a sleeply fishing village and navel port, which comes alive for two weeks every year for its Cherry Blossom Festival.
We had to let three buses go by, and even after we got on one, it was standing room only for the hour-long ride to Jin Hae. We emerged at the seaside town ravenous and explored the festival grounds, which offered more food stands than cherry trees.
Liz and I climbed up about 50 flights of stars lined with over-enthusiastic cherry trees and tourists armed with tripods (Koreans love to take photos) to Jin Hae Tower, which afforded a panoramic view of the town. The faint pink of the cherry trees dotted the evergreen hillside, like tufts of cotton, not really strong enough to make a statement against the dark forest backdrop, but trying hard just the same.
After climbing down, pajang and live baby octopus were on the lunch menu. It started with pajang: a flour and egg pancake embedded with green onion and seafood. My fellow foreigner friends became curious about all the Koreans around us noshing on the live baby octopus and resolved to take the plunge. And so, a platter of the still wriggling invertebrate was ordered up and bets placed on who could eat the most of this largely flavorless, chewy sea creature.
After lunch, everyone headed back to Busan to rest up for the night out ahead. Alone, I continued to the navel base, where I took in some modern and historic Korean warships and planes. The 30-minute walk down the pristine, cherry-tree-line lanes was breathtaking, made all the more startling by the steely, gray ocean backdrop.
I mused that my departed friends might have appreciated the scenic walk. I'd scarcely formed the thought before running into more people I knew, though. For better or worse, you're never alone for long in Korea.
Busan has gone soft. The harsh right angles of the concrete jungle have been rounded. Everything has taken on a fluffy, downy appearance. Things are mellowed; the usual roar of the city muffled and replaced with the buzzing of thousands of busy bees concerned only with sipping the fresh nectar from the newly blossomed cherry trees.
Millions of the palest pink flowers have taken over the city, and indeed the entire Korean peninsula. Some say they were brought here by the invading Japanese. Others say they've been here all along, and it's the Japanese who stole them back to the island nation. And so the age-long feud between these two Asian nations, who love to hate each other, continues.
Individually, the cherry blossom is a simple, unassuming flower. It's in the presence of hundreds of thousands of its brothers that it derives its powers of shock and awe.
Not contented with viewing the new foliage only in Busan, we traveled to the cherry blossom capital of Korea -- Jin Hae, a sleeply fishing village and navel port, which comes alive for two weeks every year for its Cherry Blossom Festival.
We had to let three buses go by, and even after we got on one, it was standing room only for the hour-long ride to Jin Hae. We emerged at the seaside town ravenous and explored the festival grounds, which offered more food stands than cherry trees.
Liz and I climbed up about 50 flights of stars lined with over-enthusiastic cherry trees and tourists armed with tripods (Koreans love to take photos) to Jin Hae Tower, which afforded a panoramic view of the town. The faint pink of the cherry trees dotted the evergreen hillside, like tufts of cotton, not really strong enough to make a statement against the dark forest backdrop, but trying hard just the same.
After climbing down, pajang and live baby octopus were on the lunch menu. It started with pajang: a flour and egg pancake embedded with green onion and seafood. My fellow foreigner friends became curious about all the Koreans around us noshing on the live baby octopus and resolved to take the plunge. And so, a platter of the still wriggling invertebrate was ordered up and bets placed on who could eat the most of this largely flavorless, chewy sea creature.
After lunch, everyone headed back to Busan to rest up for the night out ahead. Alone, I continued to the navel base, where I took in some modern and historic Korean warships and planes. The 30-minute walk down the pristine, cherry-tree-line lanes was breathtaking, made all the more startling by the steely, gray ocean backdrop.
I mused that my departed friends might have appreciated the scenic walk. I'd scarcely formed the thought before running into more people I knew, though. For better or worse, you're never alone for long in Korea.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Great Leap
As the calendar ticked over from April to March, it was as though the great hand in the sky had flipped the climate light switch. Overnight, the humidity rose by 50 percent and the temperature by 15 degrees.
It took the city of Busan a little longer to catch up to the change. On May 2, I got on the subway at 8 a.m. and the heaters were still running. In the morning rush hour, we were packed into the cars like cows to slaughter, and we silently sweated and suffered together. By the time I boarded the train again at 11 a.m., Busan transportation has caught up, and the air conditioning was gently cooling the passengers.
The hasty transition caught me by surprise, too, and I'm playing catch up. Jackets and boots have been put away. Flip flogs and tank tops have reemerged. Trips to the pedicurist are in dire need.
Hair, worn down all winter, is now tied up and off the neck. Steamy, relaxing showers have been replaced by cool, refreshing ones, and the number taken ever day has doubled along with my gym-going efforts so as not to embarrass myself on the beach.
Windows and doors are thrown open to welcome in the balmy breeze. Thankfully, the mosquito population is still recovering from the winter, but I have great faith that they'll be after my blood very soon. Just today, I saw a large bug crawling along the outdoor hallway and thought, "They're baaack."
It's no longer painful to wash my hands are work, where there is no hot water. For unlike Colorado, where cold water is icy year round, here, as the temperature of the air climbs, so does the temperature of the cold water nozzle. It's now impossible to get anything more than tepid water from the kitchen tap.
As spring settles into summer, I'm a busy as the bees in the cherry trees. For reasons that I can't spell out in this public blog, my Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings have gotten a lot busier and will remain so for the duration. This, in addition to my job, the fun stuff, the occasional load of laundry and the gym (the latter of which didn't actually happen in April due to a hectic schedule paired with not one, but two tangles with bronchitis and excruciating medical procedures on my feet) have me swamped.
To add to my load this month is my new job search, as my current teaching contract finishes May 31. Just 17 days of work left! I have enjoyed the job and this city. I have not enjoyed my most recent roommate. So, I'm looking for a new school in Busan. There is a grand master plan in the works, but I hesitate to divulge it for fear that this blog may be read by those who ought not read it. Ask for details if you're interested and wish me luck in the hunt!
It took the city of Busan a little longer to catch up to the change. On May 2, I got on the subway at 8 a.m. and the heaters were still running. In the morning rush hour, we were packed into the cars like cows to slaughter, and we silently sweated and suffered together. By the time I boarded the train again at 11 a.m., Busan transportation has caught up, and the air conditioning was gently cooling the passengers.
The hasty transition caught me by surprise, too, and I'm playing catch up. Jackets and boots have been put away. Flip flogs and tank tops have reemerged. Trips to the pedicurist are in dire need.
Hair, worn down all winter, is now tied up and off the neck. Steamy, relaxing showers have been replaced by cool, refreshing ones, and the number taken ever day has doubled along with my gym-going efforts so as not to embarrass myself on the beach.
Windows and doors are thrown open to welcome in the balmy breeze. Thankfully, the mosquito population is still recovering from the winter, but I have great faith that they'll be after my blood very soon. Just today, I saw a large bug crawling along the outdoor hallway and thought, "They're baaack."
It's no longer painful to wash my hands are work, where there is no hot water. For unlike Colorado, where cold water is icy year round, here, as the temperature of the air climbs, so does the temperature of the cold water nozzle. It's now impossible to get anything more than tepid water from the kitchen tap.
As spring settles into summer, I'm a busy as the bees in the cherry trees. For reasons that I can't spell out in this public blog, my Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings have gotten a lot busier and will remain so for the duration. This, in addition to my job, the fun stuff, the occasional load of laundry and the gym (the latter of which didn't actually happen in April due to a hectic schedule paired with not one, but two tangles with bronchitis and excruciating medical procedures on my feet) have me swamped.
To add to my load this month is my new job search, as my current teaching contract finishes May 31. Just 17 days of work left! I have enjoyed the job and this city. I have not enjoyed my most recent roommate. So, I'm looking for a new school in Busan. There is a grand master plan in the works, but I hesitate to divulge it for fear that this blog may be read by those who ought not read it. Ask for details if you're interested and wish me luck in the hunt!
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