An update 14 months into my life in South Korea.
A year has come and gone in the blink of an eye.
In that time, I've watched the baby roundness of my youngest students stretch out to become proper boys and girls. The teenagers and pre-teens, especially the boys, have shot up like reeds and now tower over me, whereas before, we literally saw eye to eye.
The little ones have gone from uttering single English words to stringing together whole sentences. The students who have gone from elementary school to middle school have done the exact opposite. Where there was the bubble of Korean/English conversation, there is now a frustrating quiet in the room. They stare at the floor, praying to be overlooked. Even when called upon, many continue to fixate at the spot on the Linoleum, refusing to speak.
I know it's tough being a Korean teenager. The hours are long, and the fun is nearly nonexistent. It's torture for everyone involved. But they don't have much of a way out, and I do.
As my contract at ECC reached its end at the beginning of June, I vowed to never teach Korean middle schoolers again. I mean, why put yourself through more hardship and mental anguish than necessary, right?
To be honest, the end of my first year in South Korea took me by surprise. I didn't have a plan. It wasn't the right time to start traveling. There wasn't a chance in hell I was going to stay at ECC -- not because the job was bad (though there are better), but because living with Steven, the roommate ECC stuck me with, was an entirely soul-sucking endeavor that no one should be forced to endure. And as for returning stateside? Well, the job market doesn't seem to have bounced back just yet.
Movin' on up
For a semi-young, female, North American already living in Korea, the jobs are easy to come by. I had half a dozen job interviews the first week I started my job hunt. A week later, I chose a job -- one that offered more money, better hours, in a better location than ECC, and best of all, my own apartment just minutes from the beach! It's just a studio, which is what most teachers have, but it has everything I need and then some, and I couldn't be happier here.
True to my word, I only teach elementary school-aged children in my job at I-Sponge -- a school with a potentially dubious background and perhaps some sketchy practices, but I'm getting paid regularly, so I'm not worrying about it. ECC is such a huge franchise with so many rules, and we were always hearing, "no," and "don't," so I'm embracing the more relaxed nature of I-Sponge, though I admit I miss the discipline of ECC. I'm pretty sure I'm the strictest teacher here, and the kids are quickly learning what acceptable behavior means to Nicole Teacher.
I have about 100 students, each of whom I see once I week. I'm the only foreign teacher at I-Sponge, though there are two more at our sister school downstairs, Pagoda Junior. So in all, there are nine Korean teachers, three Americans and a couple admin, in addition to Bossman Kim, a nutter who gives the Korean staff bi-weekly tongue lashings and raids everybody's snack stashes and the communal fridge.
I put in less than 14 teaching hours and a total of 28 hours of work each week at I-Sponge, and every once in a while, I wonder how and if I'm ever going to be able to go back to a 40-hour work week.
The dark side
I'm also supplementing my income with a job three mornings every week teaching adults at a community college of sorts. It's a vocational school for people who have university degrees and just want to focus on a certain area to increase their prospects in the job market. I'm one of three teachers (and the only foreigner) who teach the English for Tourism class. The 25 in the class study English all day, every day during the four-month term which ends this week, and I will really miss them.
Teaching adults has been a wonderful, new experience. It's a nice way to balance the kids, and I've made some lovely Korean friends though it. So what if having the job is wildly illegal, and I could potentially be deported if found out?
When living in Korea -- or anywhere really -- there are just some things you must put out of your head or they will drive you mad, and the legal practices of both the institutions I work for is one of those things.
Now, off to make rice crispy treats (aka, exotic American cookies) for our end-of-the-term party :)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Dream Journey for Peach Blossom, Part II
(written in April 2010)
After a whirlwind day of sightseeing along with southwest coast of Korea, we were delivered to a secluded log cabin surrounded my dramatic mountains and lush trees.
The cabin featured homesick-inducing Western architecture on the outside and Korean efficiency inside -- meaning a couple huge rooms where everyone lays out mats on the floor and sleeps together. It was whilst unpacking that I realized I'd inadvertently signed up for a couple's retreat. Only Dominique and I were lacking significant others, but no matter. She and I decided we would be each others' dates for the duration. Problem solved.
Group leader Charles and his right-hand-man, Samcheon, called the men folk outside into the chilly evening to get dinner going while we ladies chatted and played drinking games inside. (If you just got the same thrill that I did from reading that sentence, then we are friends.)
The men gave grim reports of not being able to start the fires and cook, but less than an hour later, layered in hats and jackets, we stood close to the crackling fire pit gorging ourselves on steamed crab, grilled pork, warm tofu and, of course, kim chee.
(I once asked a 13-year-old student what he would do if he couldn't eat kim chee anymore. The look of shock and horror he gave me makes me giggle every time I think of it. He was so dumbfounded he couldn't answer. A life without fermented veggies is simply inconceivable for Koreans.)
As dinner came to a close, some wandered over to Charles and Sancheon's room to drink the night away, but I know what Charles' morning hikes are like, so in went the ear plugs and out went the lights.
A little more than cereal
Sunday dawned crisp and fair with the characteristic Korean haze over the landscape. I'm not sure what the haze it. In Busan, I chalked it up to pollution, but here in the rural Chimsujeong Valley, we were miles from any towns, let alone big cities.
Now, for me, breakfast usually consists of coffee. If I'm feeling especially hungry, I may add a granola bar, but being perpetually late, there's not time for much else. Korean breakfasts, as a general rule, run just a little hardier.
"You must eat or you will have no energy for the hike," Charles chided, gesturing at the spread of steamed rice, rice porridge, spicy chicken stew with potatoes and carrots, and, of course, Samcheon's homemade kim chee.
"If I eat all that, you'll see it splattered on the side of the trail in half and hour," I laughed.
Charles cocked his head and furrowed his brow. His English is excellent, but I have a tendency to talk too fast and use too much slang when I'm out of the classroom, and what I said had gone over his head.
"If I eat too much, I will be slow," I amended.
Charles nodded, but I could tell he still wanted us all to tuck in.
The eight peaks of hell
"Okay," Charles barked. "This is no picnic. Let's go!"
And with that motivational speech, we began the grueling ascent up the steepest set of metal stairs I'd ever seen, and this was just to get to the trail. In five minutes, I'd broken a sweat. In 10, I'd started panting, and 15 minutes into it, I shed my light jacket, swept my hair off my sweaty neck and began to panic wondering if the next few hours would continue at a 65 degree angle.
The stairs gave way to a dirt path, but the grade did not wane. The group spread out -- the fittest setting a swift pace not everyone could keep up with. Charles flitted between the head and tail of the group, simultaneously keeping us on the right path and coaching the slower members of the group.
To my enormous relief, the trail leveled off a bit, and we soon reached the first of the eight peaks on the mountain. Charles offered us a break, but we opted to push on.
We should have taken the break.
It was unlike any hike I've ever taken. Thick ropes were anchored into the base and sides of the mountain. Clinging to them, hand over fist, we hauled our bodies up the craggy surfaces. The veterans had brought gloves. I had not and quickly wore blisters into the pads of both hands. The rough rope tore the blisters open, wetting my hands, but they didn't bleed.
At one point, I swung out on a rope, and my camera launched out of my pocket and bounced down the side of the mountain. Through some amazing acrobatic feat, Dominique and Chris were able to save it before it pitched off a cliff. And it still worked! Must send a thank you note to Kodak.
The whole experience was exhilarating, terrifying and just so much fun. It was the highlight of the weekend, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for those who had turned down the opportunity to climb this beautiful mountain.
After a whirlwind day of sightseeing along with southwest coast of Korea, we were delivered to a secluded log cabin surrounded my dramatic mountains and lush trees.
The cabin featured homesick-inducing Western architecture on the outside and Korean efficiency inside -- meaning a couple huge rooms where everyone lays out mats on the floor and sleeps together. It was whilst unpacking that I realized I'd inadvertently signed up for a couple's retreat. Only Dominique and I were lacking significant others, but no matter. She and I decided we would be each others' dates for the duration. Problem solved.
Group leader Charles and his right-hand-man, Samcheon, called the men folk outside into the chilly evening to get dinner going while we ladies chatted and played drinking games inside. (If you just got the same thrill that I did from reading that sentence, then we are friends.)
The men gave grim reports of not being able to start the fires and cook, but less than an hour later, layered in hats and jackets, we stood close to the crackling fire pit gorging ourselves on steamed crab, grilled pork, warm tofu and, of course, kim chee.
(I once asked a 13-year-old student what he would do if he couldn't eat kim chee anymore. The look of shock and horror he gave me makes me giggle every time I think of it. He was so dumbfounded he couldn't answer. A life without fermented veggies is simply inconceivable for Koreans.)
As dinner came to a close, some wandered over to Charles and Sancheon's room to drink the night away, but I know what Charles' morning hikes are like, so in went the ear plugs and out went the lights.
A little more than cereal
Sunday dawned crisp and fair with the characteristic Korean haze over the landscape. I'm not sure what the haze it. In Busan, I chalked it up to pollution, but here in the rural Chimsujeong Valley, we were miles from any towns, let alone big cities.
Now, for me, breakfast usually consists of coffee. If I'm feeling especially hungry, I may add a granola bar, but being perpetually late, there's not time for much else. Korean breakfasts, as a general rule, run just a little hardier.
"You must eat or you will have no energy for the hike," Charles chided, gesturing at the spread of steamed rice, rice porridge, spicy chicken stew with potatoes and carrots, and, of course, Samcheon's homemade kim chee.
"If I eat all that, you'll see it splattered on the side of the trail in half and hour," I laughed.
Charles cocked his head and furrowed his brow. His English is excellent, but I have a tendency to talk too fast and use too much slang when I'm out of the classroom, and what I said had gone over his head.
"If I eat too much, I will be slow," I amended.
Charles nodded, but I could tell he still wanted us all to tuck in.
The eight peaks of hell
"Okay," Charles barked. "This is no picnic. Let's go!"
And with that motivational speech, we began the grueling ascent up the steepest set of metal stairs I'd ever seen, and this was just to get to the trail. In five minutes, I'd broken a sweat. In 10, I'd started panting, and 15 minutes into it, I shed my light jacket, swept my hair off my sweaty neck and began to panic wondering if the next few hours would continue at a 65 degree angle.
The stairs gave way to a dirt path, but the grade did not wane. The group spread out -- the fittest setting a swift pace not everyone could keep up with. Charles flitted between the head and tail of the group, simultaneously keeping us on the right path and coaching the slower members of the group.
To my enormous relief, the trail leveled off a bit, and we soon reached the first of the eight peaks on the mountain. Charles offered us a break, but we opted to push on.
We should have taken the break.
It was unlike any hike I've ever taken. Thick ropes were anchored into the base and sides of the mountain. Clinging to them, hand over fist, we hauled our bodies up the craggy surfaces. The veterans had brought gloves. I had not and quickly wore blisters into the pads of both hands. The rough rope tore the blisters open, wetting my hands, but they didn't bleed.
At one point, I swung out on a rope, and my camera launched out of my pocket and bounced down the side of the mountain. Through some amazing acrobatic feat, Dominique and Chris were able to save it before it pitched off a cliff. And it still worked! Must send a thank you note to Kodak.
The whole experience was exhilarating, terrifying and just so much fun. It was the highlight of the weekend, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for those who had turned down the opportunity to climb this beautiful mountain.
Dream Journey for Peach Blossom, Part I
(written in April, 2010)
Charles Jeong is a most impressive character. In his late 40s, this Busan native can drink more and hike faster than anyone I've ever seen. He can even combine these two pastimes without the catastrophe that would surely befall me if I tried.
However, his own natural prowess causes him to, at times, forget that not everyone can do the things he can.
It was with this oversight that our first stop of the day was the Gyeong-ju Soju Festival. The clock had barely struck 10 a.m. and I hadn't eaten a thing that morning before we started pouring complimentary shots of Korea's finest home brews down out throats. (See the Booze Breakdown below for descriptions of popular Korean alcoholic beverages.)
About three shots into it, (that's right, it only took three shots) Pablo turned to me and giggled, "Heh, your face is getting red."
Great. It's just my luck that the Asian Curse would choose this bright, sunny Saturday to rear its ugly, red blotchiness. On went the sunglasses, and off I went to find some food to soak up the fermentation in my tummy.
Fortunately, the rice cake festival was being held in conjunction with the soju festival. So over to the rice cake tent I stumbled, purchasing some non-alcoholic rice water and black sesame-dusted glutinous rice cakes. Is there anything they do without rice here?
I perused the other food booths, letting the smell of spicy broth bring me back to my senses, and wearily eyed the whole roasted squab -- head and feet still attached. I wonder if they even removed the organs.
An hour later, the 20 of us piled back into our minibus. Sun and soju proving to be too much for us, we all promptly passed out.
Lovable Busan
So began the Lovable Busan "Dream Journey for Peach Blossom" trip. Charles, the founder of Lovable Busan, hosts trips and other outings just about every weekend to locations all over Korea. I'm not really sure what he does for a living or when he sees his family, because it seems like he and his sidekick, Samcheon (meaning "uncle" in Korean) are always hanging out with us foreigners.
This first weekend-long trip of the early spring promised the delight of blossoming peach trees. We didn't see a single peach tree, must less a peach blossom, during the two days, but it was a fabulous time nonetheless.
Crab attack
I awoke from my soju-induced slumber two hours later to find a massive, orange crab staring down at me. The thing was literally spanning four lanes of traffic and ready to eat the natives. Okay, that last bit was a lie. From its perch above the road, the big, plastic crab welcomed us to Yeongdeok, affectionately known to foreigners as Crab Vegas.
This little town picked a theme and ran with it. Every motel, restaurant, gas station and corner store boasted its own orange crustacean clinging to the side of the building or roosting on the roof. Even the local lighthouse couldn't escape the clutches of a crab claw and looked like something out of a B-list horror movie.
In the local wet market, Dominique, Lara, Ty and Brian forked over $10 each for four of the ugliest black fish I'd ever laid eyes on. A cry went up as the fish monger prepared to fillet them. "No, no, no, anio, anio, anio," the four protested. This was a mission of mercy. So the women put the fish in plastic bags and the four friends released the creatures back into the sea. I wonder if they made it.
Sadly, the plastic crabs were pretty much the highlight of Crab Vegas, so we bought our weight in crab for dinner later that night and headed off for our secluded cabin in the woods.
The Booze Breakdown:
Soju 소주: A distilled beverage traditionally made from rice, but today also made from potato, wheat, barley, sweet potato or tapioca. Twenty to 40 percent alcohol by volume, it tastes like a sweeter, milder cousin to vodka. Drink it straight or with a sweet mixer. It goes down easy, leads to blackouts after the first bottle and fights you the next morning.
Makgeolli/Makali/Makuly 막걸리: A subtly sweet, milky drink of fermented boiled rice and water, sometimes referred to as Korean rice wine. Between 6.5 and 7 percent alcohol by volume, the calorie-heavy bev started as a farmers drink -- something to keep 'em going through those long, sticky summer days. Guaranteed to help you put on those Korean kilos.
Dongdongju 동동주: (Yes, it's fun to say.) Similar to makali, it's one of the many variations of milky rice wine, also employing glutinous or non-glutinous rice, yeast or wheat flower in the fermentation process.
Beer 맥주: Cass, Hite and OB are the big, local brands and don't taste like much of anything. Most are made from rice, though Hite's Max Prime is made from malt barley.
Charles Jeong is a most impressive character. In his late 40s, this Busan native can drink more and hike faster than anyone I've ever seen. He can even combine these two pastimes without the catastrophe that would surely befall me if I tried.
However, his own natural prowess causes him to, at times, forget that not everyone can do the things he can.
It was with this oversight that our first stop of the day was the Gyeong-ju Soju Festival. The clock had barely struck 10 a.m. and I hadn't eaten a thing that morning before we started pouring complimentary shots of Korea's finest home brews down out throats. (See the Booze Breakdown below for descriptions of popular Korean alcoholic beverages.)
About three shots into it, (that's right, it only took three shots) Pablo turned to me and giggled, "Heh, your face is getting red."
Great. It's just my luck that the Asian Curse would choose this bright, sunny Saturday to rear its ugly, red blotchiness. On went the sunglasses, and off I went to find some food to soak up the fermentation in my tummy.
Fortunately, the rice cake festival was being held in conjunction with the soju festival. So over to the rice cake tent I stumbled, purchasing some non-alcoholic rice water and black sesame-dusted glutinous rice cakes. Is there anything they do without rice here?
I perused the other food booths, letting the smell of spicy broth bring me back to my senses, and wearily eyed the whole roasted squab -- head and feet still attached. I wonder if they even removed the organs.
An hour later, the 20 of us piled back into our minibus. Sun and soju proving to be too much for us, we all promptly passed out.
Lovable Busan
So began the Lovable Busan "Dream Journey for Peach Blossom" trip. Charles, the founder of Lovable Busan, hosts trips and other outings just about every weekend to locations all over Korea. I'm not really sure what he does for a living or when he sees his family, because it seems like he and his sidekick, Samcheon (meaning "uncle" in Korean) are always hanging out with us foreigners.
This first weekend-long trip of the early spring promised the delight of blossoming peach trees. We didn't see a single peach tree, must less a peach blossom, during the two days, but it was a fabulous time nonetheless.
Crab attack
I awoke from my soju-induced slumber two hours later to find a massive, orange crab staring down at me. The thing was literally spanning four lanes of traffic and ready to eat the natives. Okay, that last bit was a lie. From its perch above the road, the big, plastic crab welcomed us to Yeongdeok, affectionately known to foreigners as Crab Vegas.
This little town picked a theme and ran with it. Every motel, restaurant, gas station and corner store boasted its own orange crustacean clinging to the side of the building or roosting on the roof. Even the local lighthouse couldn't escape the clutches of a crab claw and looked like something out of a B-list horror movie.
In the local wet market, Dominique, Lara, Ty and Brian forked over $10 each for four of the ugliest black fish I'd ever laid eyes on. A cry went up as the fish monger prepared to fillet them. "No, no, no, anio, anio, anio," the four protested. This was a mission of mercy. So the women put the fish in plastic bags and the four friends released the creatures back into the sea. I wonder if they made it.
Sadly, the plastic crabs were pretty much the highlight of Crab Vegas, so we bought our weight in crab for dinner later that night and headed off for our secluded cabin in the woods.
The Booze Breakdown:
Soju 소주: A distilled beverage traditionally made from rice, but today also made from potato, wheat, barley, sweet potato or tapioca. Twenty to 40 percent alcohol by volume, it tastes like a sweeter, milder cousin to vodka. Drink it straight or with a sweet mixer. It goes down easy, leads to blackouts after the first bottle and fights you the next morning.
Makgeolli/Makali/Makuly 막걸리: A subtly sweet, milky drink of fermented boiled rice and water, sometimes referred to as Korean rice wine. Between 6.5 and 7 percent alcohol by volume, the calorie-heavy bev started as a farmers drink -- something to keep 'em going through those long, sticky summer days. Guaranteed to help you put on those Korean kilos.
Dongdongju 동동주: (Yes, it's fun to say.) Similar to makali, it's one of the many variations of milky rice wine, also employing glutinous or non-glutinous rice, yeast or wheat flower in the fermentation process.
Beer 맥주: Cass, Hite and OB are the big, local brands and don't taste like much of anything. Most are made from rice, though Hite's Max Prime is made from malt barley.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
BET, that's me
I know my eyes are big. I get it.
But in a year among the slanty-eyed populous of South Korea, I'm not simply aware of the fact, but painfully conscious of it. Really, I wouldn't make such a big deal of it if they didn't make such a fuss.
It would probably have been better if I'd never learned the Korean word for "eye," (which, by the way, is "noon"). Then I wouldn't know when the fruit vendor ladies cackle about them to their fellow fruit vendor lady friends. I'd be blissfully unaware when small children gasp and cry loudly to their mothers, "Look at her eyes!"
The Koreans who speak English are unabashed about pointing out my more unusual of physical features to me -- as if I weren't aware. "Wow," they say, widening their own almond-shaped eyes. "You have really big eyes."
Perhaps I'm supposed to respond, "Oh? I hadn't noticed."
Those who don't speak English pantomime their way through it, and my students are constantly stretching their eyelids with their fingers in attempt to recreate my look.
Most of it is delivered in a nice enough way, so I take it in stride. I smile and giggle, but there are days when the smile is stretched a little tight. Sometimes their candor puzzles me. I would never think to point out someone's big, bulbous nose or thin bird lips.
Some say they feel it's okay because they think the eyes are beautiful. "Pretty girl, big eyes," a cab driver blurted out just today. Last week, I met a monk who told me I could take in the whole world with my eyes, and then she gave me (and no one else in my group) a present. My first day teaching, one class nicknamed me BET -- Big-Eyed Teacher -- a name that stuck until I left ECC 53 weeks later.
But there are certainly others that find the orbs large to the point of freakishness. Take, for example, that bitchy teenager in my Toeic class who physically recoils when I (and my eyes) get too close -- say, within two or three feet of her. So, behaving like the morally superior and more mature teacher that I am, I open them as wide as they'll go and lean in toward her, just to freak her out. And I console myself with the fact that her face looks as though it's been smashed in a plate. Hey, I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is.
Outside the confines of my apartment, I'm constantly "eye aware." Walking around town or on public transportation -- where I spend 10 minutes to two hours every day -- I alternate between keeping my eyes downcast or half-masted so they look smaller or opening them to their regular wide-eyedness and meeting stares defiantly. My eyeliner has gotten thicker as I've discovered this, too, will help eyes look smaller.
It feels very indulgent to have written an entire blog about my eyes. There are certainly larger issues other there. But in the end, know that I wouldn't change them. They're a conversation topic here in Asia, if nothing else.
But in a year among the slanty-eyed populous of South Korea, I'm not simply aware of the fact, but painfully conscious of it. Really, I wouldn't make such a big deal of it if they didn't make such a fuss.
It would probably have been better if I'd never learned the Korean word for "eye," (which, by the way, is "noon"). Then I wouldn't know when the fruit vendor ladies cackle about them to their fellow fruit vendor lady friends. I'd be blissfully unaware when small children gasp and cry loudly to their mothers, "Look at her eyes!"
The Koreans who speak English are unabashed about pointing out my more unusual of physical features to me -- as if I weren't aware. "Wow," they say, widening their own almond-shaped eyes. "You have really big eyes."
Perhaps I'm supposed to respond, "Oh? I hadn't noticed."
Those who don't speak English pantomime their way through it, and my students are constantly stretching their eyelids with their fingers in attempt to recreate my look.
Most of it is delivered in a nice enough way, so I take it in stride. I smile and giggle, but there are days when the smile is stretched a little tight. Sometimes their candor puzzles me. I would never think to point out someone's big, bulbous nose or thin bird lips.
Some say they feel it's okay because they think the eyes are beautiful. "Pretty girl, big eyes," a cab driver blurted out just today. Last week, I met a monk who told me I could take in the whole world with my eyes, and then she gave me (and no one else in my group) a present. My first day teaching, one class nicknamed me BET -- Big-Eyed Teacher -- a name that stuck until I left ECC 53 weeks later.
But there are certainly others that find the orbs large to the point of freakishness. Take, for example, that bitchy teenager in my Toeic class who physically recoils when I (and my eyes) get too close -- say, within two or three feet of her. So, behaving like the morally superior and more mature teacher that I am, I open them as wide as they'll go and lean in toward her, just to freak her out. And I console myself with the fact that her face looks as though it's been smashed in a plate. Hey, I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is.
Outside the confines of my apartment, I'm constantly "eye aware." Walking around town or on public transportation -- where I spend 10 minutes to two hours every day -- I alternate between keeping my eyes downcast or half-masted so they look smaller or opening them to their regular wide-eyedness and meeting stares defiantly. My eyeliner has gotten thicker as I've discovered this, too, will help eyes look smaller.
It feels very indulgent to have written an entire blog about my eyes. There are certainly larger issues other there. But in the end, know that I wouldn't change them. They're a conversation topic here in Asia, if nothing else.
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