It’s been a hectic week. Final exams for the students are upon us. I’ve spent an unbelievable number of hours helping to write final exams. I’ve spent even more hours in meetings. I’m having second thoughts about this whole head teacher thing. I may be coming down with something. My throat has that ticklish, scratchy, not-quite-sick, but soon-will-be feeling. And at the end of the day, when confronted with the choice between sleep or writing, sleep usually won out. But I’ve missed writing. Really, really missed it. I’m beginning to think it is as important for my health as sleep is.

Lessons at So-Yae

No matter what else is happening in my life, I know I will be so entertained for at least 2 hours a day during my so-yae lessons. I knock on the door, enter, announce my arrival with a loud, “Annyong Hashim-hikka!” and all the grandfathers glance up from their writing tables, offering “Wel–come!” “Good morning!” “Annyong Ha-sayo!” “Annyong Hashim-nikka!” “Hell–lo!” I usually have enough time to prepare my materials and complete a sheet or two of characters before I hear, “Ko-pee time!” and we all gather on the small couches for a cup of coffee and what I can only imagine is thoroughly entertaining banter back and forth between the old men. I catch words here and there, but mostly just enjoy observing them.

Mr. Lau, aka “Funny Man,” had yet another joke. He told it and all the men just rolled. Tears streaming down their faces. He hit Mr. Lee (the translator) and pointed to me. “Tell! Tell!” This is what I heard: Why is a mermaid part fish? I asked Mr. Lee if this was a joke or if he really wanted me to answer. He told me, no, no, joke. Okay, then, I don’t know. Why is a mermaid part fish? “Because she’s not a pig!” I’m assuming something was lost in the translation. But for some reason, it struck me, too, as very funny. Maybe just seeing the men laugh so hard, and repeat the joke over and over. But I couldn’t stop laughing. And when the men saw me laughing, they started again.

Teacher Song got up and announced something. All the men got very quiet. Teacher Song walked over to his radio/cassette player. He motioned to me. “Music-a.” Okay. “Music-a appreciation.” Okay. I assumed he would put in a Korean music tape. Maybe traditional dance music. Maybe music using the traditional instruments. He pressed play. This is what I heard: “Thanks for the times that you’ve given me…” Yes, Lionel Ritchie. Himself. And Teacher Song singing along. Everyone listening in awe. “Once-a, twice-a, three-a times-sa ladyyyyyy.” I tried to be reverent, I really did. But I couldn’t help but giggling. At which point Teacher Song came over to me, and said, “Sing-a, sing-a!” No, really, you don’t want me to sing. Really. “Nori-bang. Nori-bang.” Okay. Maybe so. Maybe one day we’ll go to nori-bang (karaoke room) and sing. After the music ended, we all rose and returned to our writing tables.

As I was practicing the Chinese character for autumn, thinking to myself how much it looked like a boy and girl running through a field, Mr. Lee turned to me. “Appointment, today? Lunch?” No, I don’t have an appointment for lunch. “Let’s go. Korean food.” Sure. Thank you.

After our lessons we all walked a few blocks to a local Korean restaurant. I’m getting used to (sort of) attracting attention whenever I enter an establishment. But the looks on people’s faces were even more curious as I walked in, a young, tall white woman, towering over 6 post-75 year-old Korean men. We sat down on the floor around the low tables with burners in the center. Mr. Lee turned to me, “You like bibimbop (rice mixed with lots of vegetables)?” Oh, yes, it’s my favorite! He ordered for everyone at the table. Glasses of water arrived, followed by endless trays of tiny side dishes. Green beans, kimchi, seaweed, dried fish, turnips, spinach, mushrooms, broiled fish, potatoes, more turnips, potato salad. Then the platters of raw meat. Slabs of meat. Oh. I guess I won’t be getting bibimbop after all. Oh, well. The men placed the meat carefully on the burners, I used my chopsticks to strategically place the raw cloves of garlic so they would roast, not burn. They expressed amazement that I could use chopsticks. “Where did you learn?” Here. In Korea. “Oh, proper way. So good.” As they grilled the meat, I picked at this side dish and that one, so happy to eat the vegetables no one else was interested in.

Then the soju arrived. “Here, soju!” But, it’s the middle of the day. “Yes, soju!” Okay. Toasts all around. To this. To that. I was still on my first shot glass, sipping with each toast. “Rori-ga! Drink-a.” I smiled. Yes. Yes. I am. No, no more. Thank you. I was almost full when the waitress arrived with more platters. What’s this? “The rice.” Good god. Why can’t I ever remember the rice rule? That it’s not a meal until you’re eaten rice.

A covered stone bowl was placed in front of me. Mr. Lee showed me how to remove the lid with a cloth, then scoop the rice from the stone bowl to another bowl. But, why can’t I just eat it from the stone bowl? “No. Look.” He then emptied his stone bowl of rice, but a layer of burnt rice clung to the sides of the bowl. He picked up a big teapot, poured a milky liquid into the bowl, and covered it. Okay. I followed suit. I ate my rice. So delicious. Fluffy, steaming white rice, with just a few jujubes, a few chestnuts, a few nuts in it. Mmmmmm…. Mr. Lee motioned for me to uncover the stone bowl. I did. He instructed me to eat the liquid which now looked like dishwater. Really? “Yes…”

It was delicious. Subtly sweet. Still hot. The rice had come unclung from the sides of the bowl, mixing with the hot liquid, but still retaining some of its former crispness. “You like?” Yaaaayyyy. Ma-chi-dda isso summnidda. They all laughed. “Korean – very good!” We finished the meal with coffee and green tea. As we left the restaurant, the sun shone warmly, causing us to shed our jackets. What a wonderful morning….