Filed under: IGR Recommends, Seoul, host brother, host fam, host mom, host sister, life on Jeju, skool, students, teaching
A good rule of thumb for shopping in Korea is, “Did I own this in 1993?” If the answer is “yes,” which it often is, the clothes are best left in the store and on Shannon Doherty in “Mallrats.” This is apparently a rule I did not regard once this entire year, as I discovered to my chagrin during my packing, when I pulled out item after item that was either a) consigned to a box for the after-school program or b) donated to HM. HM has never seen “Mallrats,” which is probably for the best.
Such packing is part of how I would like to account for my lengthy blog absence. I also spent a good deal of the time fielding letters from my students (to be reproduced here later) and receiving a touching and bizarre array of gifts. These included:
- a Rubik’s cube
- five different cell phone charms (a lollipop, a rabbit in a hanbok, half a fake stone heart, and two that said “Love,” once of which came from PopSongBoy#1)
- a bag of junk food from Family Mart
- a snow globe with a teddy bear wearing a crown that says “King of King”
- cross-stitched models of kids wearing traditional Korean clothing
- a $65 purse from Fila (!!!)
- a planner that says “I <3 NY,” followed by the subtitle “It’s clean, and it’s easy to find everything”
- some beautiful photos of Jeju that I think my student actually took
- perfume from a boys’ class that is borderline unwearable
- multiple packs of gum
I also, of course, spent a lot of time saying goodbye, which is something at which I’m pretty good by now, having had lots of experience. HS cried when I left. HB disappeared, so I didn’t actually say goodbye to him, but I’m scheduled to call home on Friday night, so I should be able to figure it out then. HM kept looking up words that translated to things like “among the missing” and “lost in a sea of doubts.” Perhaps I should have studied my Korean a bit harder.
Now, of course, I am home. The Program, instead of routing me through Seoul to Atlanta and Johnson City, sent me from Seoul to Narita to Detroit to Johnson City, which makes a lot more sense, obviously. I was concerned about culture shock, but fortunately for me I spent FIVE HOURS in the Detroit airport, which - although it almost gave me a seizure – accelerated my culture shock and helped me get over it pretty quickly. Like shock therapy. I forgot how fat we are in America.
Also, I would like to offer a hearty non-recommendation to Northwest Airlines, which made me yearn for the halcyon days when I spoke broken Korean to the understanding clerks at KoreanAir. I tried to ask them to help me get my backpack, which I couldn’t reach, from the overhead compartment and they told me to get the guy next to me to help. For a moment, I wondered if I had made the wrong decision in coming home.
PS. I would like to plug my favorite two stores in all of Seoul, if I may, one of which I visited on Sunday in an attempt to assuage my loneliness (no, really). A-Land does not seem to have a website, even though I know perfectly well that it must, but it’s like a discounted and expanded Anthropologie, with more recycled products and stationery. I’m no design expert, but I do enjoy a good one, and the products they carry never cease to amaze me. It’s near American Apparel in Myeongdong.
My second favorite store in Seoul is mmmg (millimeter milligram), which makes the most brilliant paper products in Korea, bar none. Bizarre usage of English has its place, of course, but mmmg’s stuff is genuinely cool, fun and innovative. I have spent a lot of money there. Their products are available in the store below the Kyobo Bookstore in Daegu, and there are several stores in Seoul as well; there’s one n Myeongdong that I can never find, and an easier one to locate next to the Anguk subway stop, on the edge of Insadong. There’s a list of locales if you can go to their website, which used to work for me and does not anymore.
hi (IGR)! you are really go singapore… but I’m never lonely!!! because you are not here I can’t hear your noise and you are not disturb me. so now Iam very happy …… hope you are having a good day~~
(Host Brother).
()()
(. .)
()()
If I could review Bangkok Suvarnabhumi Airport as a place to sleep, it would compare favorably with (God forbid) Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson. Actually, I believe I will review it.
SLEEPING IN AIRPORTS: Bangkok Suvarnabhumi
****/5
The first thing to note about Suvarnabhumi is that it’s brand new. The second is that it’s full of backpackers who have the same idea you do, unlike certain other airports we could mention, which are full of homeless people who accuse you of nonexistent offenses. This means that there can be fierce competition for the cushioned benches – unsurprising considering the facts that the airport is also quiet and free of ugly carpet (are you listening, Atlanta?), has restaurants and Starbucks open 24 hours, and doesn’t smell. Aside from the absence of free Internet access and a few issues with climate control, Suvarnabhumi makes a fine place to nurse a 4AM Tazo Shaken Black Lemon Tea (Iced) before eventually passing out on a chair while you wait for your budget flight.
Singapore is humid, but thanks to the kindness of Hallim’s friend from college, we have a very comfortable place to stay, one in which Hallim is passed out right now. This is probably due to the fact that our flight left at 10:15 yesterday morning. We had some time to kill in Seoul, so we met Soccer, Quagmire, and another Program friend of ours I’ll call Earthy Fellow in Itaewon, a district in which I have no desire to ever, ever set foot again – it reminded me of Bourbon Street with a dash of colonialism, except much larger. At any rate we went to some place called Foreign Restaurant, which, as one might guess, was not any good, really. But the company was excellent. We tried to go see a movie, ended up browsing in some weird supermall, and took the metro back to Incheon, which was not, I discovered too late, the same as Incheon Terminal. Incheon Terminal is actually 40 minutes away from Incheon. We had to get on a bus, and then we had to tell the bus driver to hurry, and we ran through customs, etc., and then we discovered that the boarding time had been delayed. (Note: this was my fault. I should not attempt to navigate anywhere.) So we made it to Bangkok around 1:20, got our stuff, had some SB and crashed. Our AirAsia flight left around 7:30, and we were at Hallim’s friend’s apartment by 12.
We spent the afternoon in the Arab Quarter, which was lots of fun, aside from the fact that we ended up eating Malay/Indonesian food, which was good, but now I’m fiending for some baba ghanouj. At first I was being a bit too guidebooky, dragging Hallim to this street of hipster stores, before she pointed out that while they all differ, such boutiques can be found anywhere, and the kitsch was sort of what made the area unique. So we ate some baklava and found this place that sold telephone-shaped oil lamps and bags of old photographs of Singapore “ago,” as Host Fam would say. They bear a pretty strong resemblance to the photos we have of my father’s family in Saigon, and on vacation, and in Cali. So I picked up a few of those and wrote letters on the back, and then I found a Slurpee (!!! – yes, I am aware that these are not native to Singapore, but they are both hard to find and delicious), and then we went home.
The only downers so far: Rain jacket came out of outside of Scooter’s loaned backpack, i.e. is lost forever in AirAsia’s luggage claim, was rather expensive and more importantly a gift from Miguk Oma, and iPod seems to have stopped working. I’m going to try a few things with it, but I don’t think it’s under warranty, which means purchasing a new one, eventually. I had downloaded some Dengue Fever and White Shoes & The Couples Company, which I thought would be suitable travel accompaniments, but now I am forced to sing in my head.
HB is acting out in the way that only a sixth-grader can, standing in my room and declaring that he will “never not talk to me,” then staring in my mirror and refusing to leave. His ire is understandable in a sense; he’s mad because I’m spending time with HS that HS never had before. On the other hand, I offered earlier to play with him and he said he wanted to wait until after I was done with HS, and now we’re out of time. What he’s also been doing is waiting until it is obviously inconvenient to play (ex. HS says she’ll be ready in five minutes, HB wants to take that time) and then getting angry when I can’t do it. I suspect that Oma and Apa have already talked to him about not being jealous, so he’s drawing attention to his concerns in the only way he knows how – making it look like I’m not paying attention to him. Also, by making fun of my Korean, which he has never done before. Understanding is exhausting sometimes.
In the meantime, I’m writing my CV, and at this point I’m starting to wonder if I can include things like “crochet” under my skills category.
“You should learn to play the game called ‘How to Use Chopsticks.’”
- HB
HB also just bought some silver sneakers with gold accents and they are super fly. We went to get his yearbook picture taken and I mistakenly thought I had to get it taken with him, but really they just wanted me there for moral support, I guess. The students here seem to get their yearbook pictures taken at studios, which gives them an oddly poignant air; the majority of the pictures are…I don’t know. I have to figure out a way to share them without violating my students’ privacy. I have NO IDEA how that is going to happen.
Oma loves Cadbury chocolate. Bringing gifts back from the States will not be very hard.
Filed under: NaBloPoMo, host brother, life progress, okay seriously Korea, skool, students, teaching, volunteering
There is a single 모기 (mosquito) who, despite ample opportunities to escape, has been flying around my room for the past few nights, biting me when I’m asleep. Essentially, this mosquito’s entire diet, at this point, consists of my blood. I can’t handle that much commitment. Also, these bites itch. I forget about it until it flies by my ear, its whine causing my blood to slowly boil. </haterade>
Recaps: I FINALLY got 1K to behave, totally by accident. This kid was making fun of the way I talk to the class – and I do hate slowing my speech down, even though it is rather necessary – so, in a fit of pique, I taught them at approximately 80% of the speed I speak to my friends. Which, to put it in layman’s terms, is around 110% the speed of the average American speaker. They listened. The whole time. They weren’t exactly angels, but they did pay more attention than they have for weeks. Maybe they’re really smart and were just bored? I guess stranger things have happened.
Also, I’d like to deliver a short ode to HBBFF, or Host Brother’s BFF, who showed up at our door yesterday around 45 seconds after my family called him to invite him over for ddeokbokki. HB and HBBFF have a sort of Pinky-and-the-Brain-esque relationship, wherein HB is the Brain and HBBFF is the hapless Pinky. For example:
IGR: HB, would you like to play a game?
HB: I will kill you.
IGR: Right. HBBFF, do YOU want to play?
HBBFF: Of course!
HB: Shut up, no you don’t.
HBBFF seems to like a few things, like me, and HB, and computers, and eating. I.e., he is the sort of person to whom one can offer food and have him show up 45 seconds later.
Tomorrow: Seoul for a number of exciting things, including an interview for an internship and dinner with my Korean teachers from The Program. Today I skipped out on the afterschool program – I have GOT to organize my time better on Thursdays, because as it stands I have five classes and RIGHT after the last one I have to head down to City Hall or I’ll be late, even though I’m exhausted. In retrospect, Thursday wasn’t the best day for me to volunteer, but it’s too late now. I wasn’t feeling well and I was running late and, unsurprisingly, I found myself trying to rid myself of a headache, lying in bed and watching “The Office.” (Side note: I <3 Creed.)
Filed under: Korean classifications, actual transcripts, anatopism, dumb miguks, host brother, host dad, host fam, host mom, host sister, how we roll, life on Jeju, miscommunication, okay seriously Korea, questionable fashion decisions
A series of stories.
A
Halloween
I didn’t intend to see a horror movie simply because it was close to Halloween. Things just worked out that way. It was my sweet, gentle Oma who chose the movie (more on Oma’s likes and dislikes in a minute). It was entirely in Korean, of course, but you know the old adage: sadistic torture knows no language. There was something about an ugly necklace, some sort of supernatural hand that appeared periodically, and some women in court clothes who kept pulling all sorts of medieval/Guantanamo-style treatments on each other (or maybe just on one woman. I don’t really know). I fell asleep for part of it. Oma kept her hands over her face the entire time. Fun night!
Saturday Albuquerque had organized this festival for some little kids at a program at this church that one of her students attended, and most of us had signed on to help, so I found myself hauling thirty small prizes* and a 24-pack of toilet paper across the island. Oma and Apa were headed to Seogwipo anyway to help with a wedding the next day, so I caught a ride and ate lunch with them and the wedding party, where I received a gift bag containing detergent and brown sugar. I met up with my friends and headed over to the festival site, where we were confronted with an immediate problem: Scooter, in a rare burst of enthusiasm, had invited some of his students, all of whom were at least five years older than our target audience. So we had to make some activities up, most of which consisted of us encouraging them to tell the goriest ghost stories possible (in English, natch). For the little kids, there were mask making, face painting (with poster paint and WATERCOLORS – thanks for not having party supplies, Korea), and various relay race activities. Then we all ate fried chicken and were very happy. Except that, during the haunted house, some of the students spat in Scooter’s face. Oops.
Somehow Hallim (or G) and I ended up back in Jeju-si, running through e-Mart at 9:00 on a frantic search for tofu and bananas and other barbecue supplies, in large part because I am pathologically unable to let anyone do anything for me. After some help from a kindly Anglophone meat clerk (who nonetheless alerted the entire first floor that there were two eccentric foreigners floundering through the groceries), we made it back to my apartment, where we dressed to represent the fair state of Kentucky (I was a cigarette, she was barefoot and pregnant). In retrospect, I should have donned a fat suit and a Philip Morris nametag so I could have been Big Tobacco, but there’s always next year.
We made it out to the pension in Hamdok Beach around 10:00. Here’s where things get – and will stay, for your purposes – a bit blurry. There was fun, and there were adventures; we ate grilled chocolate-stuffed bananas, made friends with a Korean family, watched Africa cook chicken adobo (as Scooter said, “After eating this, I’m gonna wife her”). Oregon had brought a college friend whose name was – and I am not making this up – Ricky Martin. And then there was a campfire, and grass seeds that stuck to our clothes, and an accidental but somehow inevitable discussion with a certain person in my life, one fueled by throwaway comments and cheap Hite beer and weeks and weeks of the unspoken. It happens. We’ll be stronger after this, but it’s going to take a while. To imagine that here I would learn how to depend on others, and at the same time so well how to be alone…well. I didn’t. But now I can, and I count my happiness and my sadness on each hand, and I keep the transcripts to myself.
The next day I woke up on the floor next to Hallim, still wearing a cigarette costume (having forgotten to bring pajamas), still with pampas grass in my hair, and we headed home.
B
feats of strength
If you have never been to a Korean wedding, let me just say this: Imagine the part in the Who’s “Baba O’Riley” where the synthesizer kicks in. Now, instead of recollecting that as music, try to picture that as flashing plastic chandeliers. Add a fog machine. Welcome to the wedding hall.
After we arrived, HS and HB in tow (they had to wake us up, as we’d fallen asleep on the bus), we were immediately escorted to the nook where the bride waited, where we – not my family, just Hallim and me – had our picture taken with her. On the bride’s camera, not ours. Then we were escorted back to our seats, where I was immediately summoned by some of Apa’s many ajushi cousins to sit with them; despite the fact that none of them spoke English, they all managed to ask me to call them “opa” (older brother; yeah okay). They called me by my host fam’s last name, which was cute, and they kept speaking to me in rapid Korean, which was not. Then we saw the wedding, which involved, in addition to the aforementioned elements, bubbles that shot out at random intervals, a troupe of toddlers dressed like Cupid who performed an interpretive dance, and a push-up demonstration by the groom, who was cheered on by an announcer and his bride. I should mention at this point that none of this appeared to have been rehearsed. At all. Then it was picture time; first the bride and the groom were photographed, and then the bride and the groom and their families, and then the bride and the groom and their mothers, and then the bride and the groom and their friends, and then the bride and the groom and everyone on one half of the room. Hallim and I fell into the last category. We were shoved to the front of the wedding pictures. I felt a little like a trophy wife. Trophy foreigner?
That’s all for today. More tomorrow. There is more, of course. In the meantime, I’m going to take a bath, revel in my newly purchased Time magazines, and try to forget the fact that I have mosquito bites on my hands.
Filed under: Jeju crew, Korean classifications, actual transcripts, anatopism, food, host brother, host fam, host mom, host sister, how we roll, life on Jeju, questionable fashion decisions, students
Oma killed the last of the pesto today – she made almost exactly what I had made, fettuccine with chicken. Granted, it was for breakfast, but it was still very sweet. I was going to offer to cook dinner tonight, but maybe one American meal per day is enough.
I was supposed to go to the Jeju United game today with Soccer – note: I have realized that by calling my friends by their initials, there is bound to be some overlap, so I am giving them nicknames – because her dad works for the team, and it would have been fun; today is a good day to watch 축구. But it’s also a good day to go to some sort of flower festival with my family. I am a festival whore. I haven’t seen them much this weekend, so.
The past few days have been good. Friday I went with the first (seventh) graders at my school to a picnic, which turned out to be a Super Field Trip; we started at the set of this historical TV drama, which they had left up after they were done filming, I guess, and then we went to the 핸여 (Woman Diver) museum, and then to this volcanic beach. I’ve managed to befriend this bully girl – Teddy Bear Barrette – simply by remembering her name, so she kept running up to me and screaming “TEACHER! NAME?” and, when I told her what her name was, giving me a high five and grinning triumphantly at her minions. At the Woman Diver museum, the boys of 1J all bought these toys that looked sort of like inflatable swords with the heads of women divers at the end, and they chased each other around and beat on one another. Then I stole one from one of them and did the same thing. GOD I love 1J.
Friday afternoon Scooter (formerly D) and I went shopping, where we found a sleeveless denim vest that, much to my chagrin, he did not buy. Then Friday night I took HB and HS and Oma over to Soccer’s apartment, where most of the Crew had gathered with their respective host siblings, and we played Apples to Apples while my Oma and Soccer’s Oma had coffee. C (whom I’m going to start calling Africa from now on)’s host brother, who was in third grade, told me that I looked so old that my head should be in a museum. Saturday morning I met Soccer and Curfew (formerly known as E) for shopping (again), where I bought THE BEST COAT EVER.* It is a trench coat and it is silver.** Africa met us for a little bit, and then Soccer and Quagmire and I headed out to Seogwipo for the cast party of the play we all did for the English Festival, and we all sat around my friend Albuquerque’s apartment and drank and talked about the world. And now the weather is beautiful.
My former roommate also sent me this link, which expresses my position in the Land of the Morning Calm perfectly:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/lists/27StuartZehner.html
*In Korea, I have become more cognizant of many of my interests and enthusiasms. See Appendix B.
**This is the most Korean coat in the world. Yes, Miguk Oma, I realize that it breaks the “if it’s shiny, you can’t teach in it” rule, but guess what: I’m not in America anymore.
APPENDIX A
New Pseudonyms, with their old identities
N: Soccer
E: Curfew
D: Scooter
C: Africa
L: Albuquerque
Quagmire: Quagmire
APPENDIX B
Things for which I could safely call myself an “enthusiast”
Lanterns
Yogurt-based foods
Coats
Festivals
Street food
PS: I saw this on AllMusic’s front page the other day and I remembered high school and the whole thing made me laugh.
Filed under: Jeju crew, actual transcripts, host brother, life on Jeju, life progress, skool, students, teaching, volunteering, yoga
Additions to my list of favorite travel poster slogans:
“Come On Baby”
“Nice To Meet You, Sphinx!”
1J kept me afloat, but 1K brought me right back down again. Usually 1K is in my top five classes; they’re obnoxious, but they’re smart, which is what I tend to like. Because the desks were out of order, however, they took that as a license to totally disrespect me and do whatever they wanted, and as a result I gave out my second – my second! – Noise-O-Meter 5, on the same day. When my co-teacher for that class – we’ll call him Mr. Kang – finally showed up, they quieted down and started listening, but unfortunately he didn’t come until halfway through, and by that time they were already writing me letters of apology. Letters that, I should admit, almost redeemed them. Almost.
Here’s a taste.
Proof! PROOF that they were swearing in Korean! (Although “Teacher, do you know this word?” followed by repeated chanting of said word is a pretty clear giveaway.)
Well, NOW my heart many hurting.
Even as he denies it, he requests another chance.
I know.
And what might be my favorite:
I also got this unexpected bit of wisdom from a notebook some careless student left in my classroom:
Since when did anthropomorphic chairs become so wise? And how did they know that I needed reminding of this now?
My friend C asked me today how I do it – “it” being, I guess, teaching, pottery, yoga, volunteering, the journalistic outlet for which I’m writing, and allotting adequate time to spend with the Crew. The truth is that I didn’t know how to answer. The truth is that I don’t feel like I’m doing it, or much of anything really; I’ve been on the same lesson plan for WEEKS, because it turns out that what I had allotted for one lesson actually required three. (On a side note, I almost punched Quagmire at the English teachers’ workshop last Friday, when he kept talking about how HIS students could do activities that involved picking out adverbs from a story and couldn’t mine? My students do not understand the phrase “Use this word in a sentence.” But as one of the other teachers reminded me today, students at his school have a lot more parental support [and wherewithal], and anyway it does us no good to compare.) My lessons at the ASP, or Study Room, involve jumping and screaming out the names of colors, and usually I plan them on the way there. Somehow, when I think about what I do every day, the first thing that comes to mind is watching reruns of “The Office” on TVLinks. It just seems like I may be getting credit where it isn’t due.
I did, however, add another activity today: Korean class. It’s free, it’s offered at one of the local universities here, and it’s taught by a primary school teacher who just so happens to have been HB’s teacher last year. HB is apparently the spawn of the Devil. I didn’t know. I’m not entirely surprised, but I don’t know that I expected to see her face freeze when I mentioned him, or to hear her say, “Always, when I am drunk, I scream out his name.” Well, I like him? D kept calling me the HB of our class, because I asked too many questions and apparently accidentally cheated during a game, and every time he said his name, it was like he had mentioned Lord Voldemort. But then I walked home with this other teacher who had been sitting in and helping out with the class, and as we talked, I realized that getting involved helps me feel less like a foreigner. (Duh.) Then she told me all about how people used to compare her to Anne of Green Gables, and in English (and Korean!) we talked about our favorite cities. I’m going to learn a lot.
