The Welcome Party

Today at so-yae, Mr. Lee asked me, “Your schedule tomorrow? You have schedule?” No, it’s still free. “Okay. We meet here 9:30 for co-pee. Then, 10:00, cars. And drive. Welcome party. Maybe return 5 or 6 o’clock. Yes?” Okay….

Little do they know I am just like a baby. Put me in the back seat of a car and I fall asleep. I’m so curious, though. They haven’t told me where we’re going. When I ask, they just say, good, very good.

Riddles, Once Again

Today it was time to teach the concept of riddles to one of my elementary classes. I braced myself. The last time I tried to teach riddles to an advanced class it didn’t go over so well. The lesson started off like this, “What is big and hairy and has four arms?” “I don’t know.” “I don’t know, either, but it’s standing right behind you.” And the four students burst into laughter. Knee-slapping guffawing. Maybe there’s hope…

So after explaining the concept of a riddle, it was time for us to create some on our own. In the book, it gave two possible answers, we were to create the riddle itself. The first answer was dog. We began to list all attributes of a dog on the board: cute, good nose, helps blind people see, has a tair. When we listed about 10 items, we read them out loud, to see which ones we wanted to use in the riddle. I noticed I had written “has a tair” instead of “has a tail.” This was the third time today I’ve switched my r’s and l’s. I really am learning Korean.

We had many attributes on the board. Okay, guys, how should we begin our riddle? “People eat me!” was the unanimous response. I turned around. Were they serious or just joking? They were serious. The riddle didn’t turn out that well. You win some, you lose some. Or, in this case, you eat some.

And At The School…

We have a new teacher at school. He just arrived. From Canada. He has the same name, same former profession, same hometown, as another teacher who teaches at the other campus. I still had not met the new teacher. The male teachers were describing him to me. “He’s not as outgoing as “*” from the other school. He’s quiet. Doesn’t seem as rambunctious.” “Maybe we just haven’t seen that side of him yet.” “Yeah, Korea is the modern day Australia. Everyone here is running from a sordid past.” At that point I looked up from my desk and stared from speaker to speaker. It would have been funny if they had been joking. They weren’t.

The Visitor At SoYae

This morning, as we were sharing coffee and I was telling my retiree friends about my trip to Palgongsan yesterday, there was a knock on the door. I looked around. We were all present. Who could that be? Another older gentleman walked in. Annyong… Annyong… We all stood up and greeted the visitor. Mr. Lee explained to me, “New student-a. Normally afternoon. Today, morning.” Oh. Okay. We sat back down. Mr. Nam had been sitting beside me on the couch. He got up and offered his seat to the visitor, Mr. Noh. He turned to me, “Miss Ro-ri. Very pretty name. You are from America?” Yes, San Francisco. I didn’t get a good feeling from him. He kind of creeped me out. “Very pretty girl. Teacher Song tell me much about the American. I had to come meet. Are you married? No? Single? Ahhhhhh….” I felt betrayed. Teacher Song, why? This is the one place that I am completely comfortable, completely at peace. Throughout the morning Mr. Noh would come by my work station, to get a new brush, a new book, to look at my work. He would speak to Teacher Song, every now and then I would hear “Rori-ga. Rori-ga.” Okay, even if I don’t understand the whole sentence, I understand my name. Quit talking about me.

Please Help Me – I’m Technically Illiterate

I had a notepad file. A fairly important one. And when I opened it up today the data was gone. It was there approximately 24 hours ago. I have read through all the “help” topics on my computer, but it seems that to restore a file I have to already have a backup (which if I had, I wouldn’t need to restore it).

Is there anyway to recover a file? Please.

I’m using Windows XP on a Compaq Presario. I tried to contact Microsoft, but my message keeps getting rejected. I’m not happy right now.

Thank you.

The Jungle Adventure

As I’m typing this, I’m in pain. While hiking today, I slipped. Broke my fall with my right hip smashing on a sheer sheet of solid rock. I tried to stop myself from sliding further down the mountain by grasping the rock, which only proceeded to remove the skin from my entire right palm. But I’m still glad I went.

Mr. Nam picked me up at 10 am, in front of DongA. “Today, we hike to DongBong, then visit the temples on mountain. Very good.” Sounds like a plan, let’s go! As we drove up the mountain, I noticed more flowers were in bloom than last week. Rhododendron, lilies, cherry blossoms. Purples, yellows, and pinks lined the road. We began our ascent by taking the same trail we took on Frog Day, which I learned is called “Camel Ridge” because of the two “humps” you have to climb before reaching the summit. What a different experience today, though. No snow. No ice. Just clear blue skies and fresh, cool air. We had a cleansing rain over the weekend, so all the yellow sand from China is gone. I can once again breathe.

On the way up the mountain Mr. Nam asked me if I had eaten breakfast. I told him yes. He wanted to know what I had had. I told him cereal and coffee. “Oh, that not enough. Scientists say…” and I expected him to finish with “breakfast is the most important meal, blah, blah, blah.” But instead, he continued, “must eat rice first thing in morning. To make brain smart.” What? “Yes. Rice. Very good for breakfast. For all meals. Helps your brain.” I thought for a moment. I probably fix rice and kimchi for breakfast maybe two or three times a week. Do I feel more mentally stimulated on those days? Am I able to process problems more easily? I couldn’t remember for sure, but it can’t hurt… Okay. I’ll start eating rice for breakfast. Thank you.

We weren’t battling ice today, but we were battling mud. Ooey, gooey, sticky, mucky, mucky mud. Which was almost as treacherous as ice. Because if you slip in mud you get very dirty. Which isn’t so bad at the end of a day of hiking, but at the beginning, well, then you’re dirty all day. And wet. So I walked very slowly and cautiously. And thoroughly enjoyed the entire sensation of walking through bog-like mud conditions. With each step my foot would sink a little, slide a little, and as I lifted it to take a step make a sucking pop! sound. Like a mud kiss. Then on to the next step. Memories of mud filled my head. Mud baths in Calistoga. Sliding in mud while playing softball. A nursery rhyme about a hippo in a bog. Throwing a mud pie at my next door neighbor when I was only four. And getting in a lot of trouble for it.

As we were descending into the valley, we passed a couple of agashi, older men. Annyong… Annyong hashimnika… As we passed them, one of the agashi started humming. Hmmm… that sounds very familiar. What is it? I know I’ve heard it, but I can’t place it. Is it Korean? Is it English? Then the words came, “Oh, my darlin’, oh, my darlin’, oh my darlin’ Clementiiiiiiiine…” I turned around. He gave me a big grin. I smiled. I guess that was for my benefit…

At the summit, we found a couple of rocks and perched. Mr. Nam had brought our traditional lunch of kim bop (sushi rolls). I had brought tangerines. When I return to the States I don’t think I’ll be able to hike without taking kim bop with me. It’s what I look forward to at the summit. Enjoying the view, feeling the winds blow, eating kim bop. It’s the perfect hiking food. It’s already cut into small pieces. It doesn’t matter if your hands are dirty from hiking, because you use chopsticks. And it’s just right. Not too much food, not too little.

As we were eating, I noticed a pair of people on a rock not too far away from us. An older woman and a man. The woman turned to face the open ridges. And began singing. And singing. And singing. I asked Mr. Nam what the song was. “Traditional Korean song.” What does it mean? “Welcome of spring. Very hard song. Not many people can sing. She, maybe professional.” She sings very beautifully. Her voice is so clear, so strong. After she finished, they made their way towards us. Mr. Nam talked to them for a few minutes. The woman turned to me and smiled, “Khamsa Hamnida.” And they were off. Mr. Nam had told her what I had said. She was indeed a professional singer.

After we finished our lunch Mr. Nam explained we would take a different route down so that we could visit the temples. But, we would not take the normal path, because he thought it might be too muddy. We would take a different one. Sure. Let’s go. We started down the alternate path, just a narrow footpath, wide enough only for one person at a time. I followed behind him. A couple of times he would start down the path then we would come to a dead end. The trail just stopped. He would look around, this way and that, then say, “No good. Back. Another way.” We would retrace our steps and try another possibility. At times, we were wandering through the brush until the path magically reappeared. At one point, we reached a sharp drop. He kept going closer and closer. Mr. Nam, don’t you think we should go another way? “No. This way good. See?” All I could see was that he was nearing a precipice and I wasn’t prepared to jump. He bent down and lifted a rope. “We use this to get down. No problem.” Okay, maybe no problem for you, but I’m not sure I trust a random rope tied to a tree to support me down a 25 foot drop. But he was already gone. I reached the edge and sure enough, he was scaling the side of the rock, James Bond style. It looked easy enough. He got to the bottom and jumped. “Okay, Miss Rori. Go!” I grabbed the rope and started down. This was a total leap of faith. The only way to get down was to tug as hard as possible on the rope and trust the knot would hold. Each time I found a foothold for my foot, he clapped or yelled, “Good!” About halfway down I realized I was laughing. This was really fun. I felt like a Bond girl. When I almost reached the bottom I jumped. “Very good! You look very comfortable! I think you professional.” No, I assure you I am *not* a professional. But it was fun. “It is our jungle adventure. Just no tigers.”

We continued. About 20 minutes later we came to another drop. And another rope. Yeah! Again, he went first and coached me on the way down. This was only about a 15 foot drop, not nearly as spectacular as the first. We continued. The conditions were very different on this side of the mountain. No mud. Very, very arid. Dead leaves piled about 6 inches deep. And not another soul. For hours we hiked and didn’t see or hear anything but the birds. At one point we had to retrace our steps several times. The trail would just end; there was no way to continue. Mr. Nam kept apologizing. “I’m so sorry. This way. Not good. I did not know. I thought, maybe good.” You’ve never been this way? “No. But I thought, maybe good. But not. So sorry.” No problem. It’s all part of the adventure.

It was a very steep descent through forests and forests of mountain bamboo. Every now and then I would almost lose my step in the slippery piles of dead leaves. But catch myself. At one point Mr. Nam stopped, turned around, looked back up the mountain, and said, “Ahhhh. Look!” As I turned around to look at where we had come from, I lost my balance. There was slick rock under the piles of dead leaves. I fell, my hip breaking my fall. I felt myself sliding down and grasped at whatever I could to stop myself. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I ended up about 10 feet from where I fell. I could hear Mr. Nam yelling, “Oh my god – are you okay? Miss Rori!” I’m okay. I’m okay. Just need a minute. There’s a funny relationship I have with tears. If I’m sad, I can cry. If I’m happy, I can cry. If I see a sappy movie, I can cry. Doesn’t matter who’s around me. But if I’m hurt, I forbid myself to shed a tear. I grit my teeth until the pain passes, squeezing my eyes so tightly I see bright lights. So I laid there a minute until he reached the spot where I was. He helped me up, I brushed myself off, assessed that nothing was broken, and we continued. “Miss Rori – so sorry. Bad way. So sorry.” Mr. Nam, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. This is a beautiful route and we have the mountain to ourselves. This is peacefulness personified. I’m okay, really.

We reached a stream and followed it for awhile. “This lead us to temple. YoungRulAm.” As we neared the temple I noticed there was barbed wire running near the stream. Then I noticed we had to cross over the barbed wire to reach the temple grounds. Not just one barbed wire fence, but several, spaced about 10 feet apart. Mr. Nam, what does that sign say? “Oh. Keep out. Do not use path.” Ahhhh. I see. So, we probably shouldn’t have been on this side of the mountain? “Maybe. But okay.”

We approached YoungRulAm, a very small temple nestled in the side of the mountain. Built approximately 1500 years ago. Just a few buildings, not the halls and halls and halls of the more famous temples. We were the only non-monks there. Mr. Nam quietly called for me to follow him. We went up a few steps, then came to a large rock under a pine tree. Upon closer inspection, Buddha had been carved on the rock. He was probably 30 feet high, watching over the temple. We walked around; I was fascinated by the details of the main hall. The golden Buddhas inside. The intricate, though faded, paintings on the doors. The hundreds and hundreds of lotus lamps with small candles. The shrine of laughing baby Buddhas in front. Again, Mr. Nam called to me. “Hungry?” A little. “Here. I fix you food.” Wait, what are you doing? “It’s okay. Monks give food to all people.” And sure enough, there was a table of food set out. Noodles, broth, and “kim chi pizza pancake” (I don’t remember the Korean name, but that’s what it seemed to be). Mr. Nam prepared me, then him, a bowl of noodles. We sat and ate. It tasted so good. A little salty, but so good. We washed our dishes then continued on our way.

“This way. Or that way. Which?” He pointed towards the road, which led to DongHwaSa (the second temple we would visit) or a path, blocked by a huge sign and gates. What does that sign say? “Keep out. But it’s okay. Many people use it. Very nice.” I think I’d rather take the road. I’m all about making your own path, but I generally think that there’s a reason when huge “keep out” signs are posted. And I tend to obey them. I get into enough trouble as it is, I don’t need to tempt fate in any additional manner.

We walked a couple of kilometers along the “road,” really a wide dirt path that looked like it could be passable for the occasional car. We arrived to DongHwaSa. This was the main temple of the mountain. Buildings upon buildings upon buildings. The main hall, the auxiliary halls, the monks’ living quarters, the lecture hall, the tourist information center. We walked around, peeking at this, admiring that, I, clicking my camera the whole time. Oooh. Aaah. The colors. The detail. That’s what amazes me the most about the temples. The absolute attention to details. Everything is perfect. Layer upon layer. The carvings. The crispness of the patterns on the roof. The carvings on the roof tiles. The intricacies of the doors. Nothing has been overlooked.

We finished touring the temple. I thought. “No, this way. You surprise.” Huh? But I followed him. We chatted about our classes, my family, his family. And then, he led me around a corner. I gasped. There stood the largest Buddha I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know how tall it was. Huge. A plaza of sorts. In front of the Buddha was a marble area for praying. And surrounding the Buddha was a low wall with probably another 50 Buddhas carved into the stone. Woooooow. What is this? “Built for reunification of North and South Korea. We pray this happen.” Do you think it will happen? “Maybe 100, maybe 50 years. I think people want. But North Korea government no want. This Buddha built maybe 10 years ago.” We walked around. We had been on the mountain for almost 8 hours. I was exhausted, but in awe. Again, I couldn’t believe the detail. All in white stone. Beautiful, pristine, unblemished white stone.

We finally walked back to the car. “I think you very tired. You take a rest. Take a little sleep.” Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you so much, Mr. Nam. This was a wonderful day. I can’t believe everything we saw. Thank you. “Maybe I will call you to go hiking again? It’s okay?” Of course it’s okay (we’ve been hiking together for two months now). “But you hurt. I take you on very bad path today.” Mr. Nam, really, it’s okay. I had a wonderful day. I would love to go hiking again. Thank you.

I’m Teaching What?

When I was approached about teaching the high school course (Saturday and Sunday nights), one of the things that persuaded me to accept was I was told I would be teaching literature. I had visions of reading a classic and leading philosophical discussions about personal interpretations of the book. Kind of an Asian version of Dead Poets Society. What would it be?

The day before classes were scheduled to begin the president of the school handed me a book. Rich Dad Poor Dad. “Have you ever heard of this?” No. What is this? “It’s a very good book. This is what you will teach.” I began reading. It’s a book about how to get rich. A book on financial literacy. A book that a brick wall is more qualified to teach than me. Keep in mind, I’m teaching Korean high school students. This book is all about American tax law, real estate schemes, and changing your thinking about money. Topics that couldn’t be more irrelevant to Korean high school students. They hate this book. They find the vocabulary incredibly difficult to understand and the topic boring. I agree with them. But each week I try to prepare questions that will stimulate discussion and somehow make the topic more “real” for them.

Last week, the lesson was about corporations. I was trying to explain the tax benefits of forming a corporation (again, why would they care?). I was explaining how every April residents of the United States complete and submit income tax forms. I was trying to explain the difference between pre-tax and after-tax dollars. And deductions. And income tax brackets. Not the most exciting stuff. After a lengthy explanation I asked, “Are there any questions?” The students shook their heads no. So we were on to the next topic, I thought. One of the students said something to another in Korean. I asked him to repeat it in English. He said, “Oh, I tell Woo Sung about putting form in window.” What? What form? What window? “Tax form.” Okay. What window? “Car window.” What? “English teacher at school say rich people in America love to pay taxes. So put tax form in back windshield of car to show how many taxes they pay.” I stared at him incredulously. My first reaction was, That’s wrong. No one does that. But before I spoke I thought hard. Is this a custom I’m not aware of? Maybe in the midwest they do this? Then reality sank in. No. No, that’s not true. No one does that. “Really? Are you sure?” Yes, I’m sure. People want to avoid paying taxes. They want to pay as little as possible. And no one shares their income tax forms with other people, much less post them in their car windows. Is your English teacher at school from the United States? “No. He is Korean.” Has he lived in the U.S.? “No. He just heard.” He’s wrong. People really don’t do that. I could tell they didn’t know who to believe. Really. I swear. People do not put their income tax forms in their back windshields. Really.

The next day at school one of the other teachers said, “I was watching you on the internet last night. I heard you tell the students people put their income tax forms in their back windshield. Maybe in crazy California they do that, but I’ve never heard of *anyone* doing that.” I just stared at him. Sometimes life tires me.

So this weekend we had two main discussion points. 1 – Managing people is the hardest thing about running a business and 2- We learn from our mistakes. Okay, these lessons can translate to high school students’ lives. They’ve all been in leadership positions. And I’m sure they’ve made mistakes. I was looking forward to some good discussion. I asked the students to give me examples of when they had been in a leadership position. Several students had been, or are, their class president. Others have led groups at church or have led study groups. So far, so good. What is the hardest thing about being a leader? I asked. “Well, when people disagree. And I have to make decision. And some people very angry. They don’t like the decision.” Ohhh, I can see how that would be very difficult. What do you do to manage the situation? “I bring them food the next day.” I almost fell out of my chair. This is exactly what the administration at work does. Anytime there is a disagreement we get pastries, or coffee, or cake, or gift certificates to the local fast food chain, Lotteria. Is this a Korean custom? I asked. “No, but it works. People eat. They are happy. They forget about problem.” Students in all 3 of my classes gave the same example.

In my last class of the evening we were discussing how we learn from our mistakes. This class was particularly reticent. It was Sunday night at 10:30 pm. We were all tired. I said again, Tell me about a time when you made a mistake, but that you learned something valuable from it. All four students stared into their books. No one would look at me. Guys, this is the time when you talk to me. C’mon… They glanced up and giggled. But still no one spoke. Finally one student (who always offers convoluted examples) began. “One day I was walking in the street. And I came upon an obsticker.” Obsticker? “Obstacker. Obstucker. Ob… that thing in my way.” Oh, obstacle. Okay, you came upon an obstacle. Then what? “I hit it. Ouch. Right there.” Okay… so, what lesson did you learn from that? “That there was an obstacle in the street.” Professionally, I know I’m not supposed to laugh at any answers given. But I couldn’t help it. Master of the obvious, he is. With that, the bell rang. Okay, have a great week. Watch out for obstacles…

Arabic In A Foreign Land

Young and I went to see a movie Sunday afternoon. Afterwards, I had to catch a cab back to my area of town to prepare my lessons for Sunday evening. He hailed a cab for me and, in Korean, told the driver where to take me. As I settled into the back, the driver asked me, in Korean, if I spoke Korean. I answered, Only a little. He asked me where I was from. I told him San Francisco. Ohhhh, American. He switched to English. How long had I been in Korea? What was I doing here? Why in the world would I want to leave San Francisco? Had I ever visited Canada? I complimented him on his English. He mentioned he had perfected it while living in Kuwait and working as a dental assistant. Kuwait? Yes, have you ever heard of it? Yes, I used to live there as well. Then he busted out in Arabic. I looked around. There have to be cameras watching me somewhere. What are the odds that I would meet two Koreans, in the course of a couple of weeks, who lived in Kuwait and speak Arabic? The taxi driver, however, did *not* offer to feed me raw fish. I’m making progress.

The Welcome Party

At so-yae today the men were talking excitedly about something. I always listen intently, staring from speaker to speaker, trying to pick up any vocabulary whatsoever. I usually understand about, oh, maybe 2% of what they’re saying. But today I understood more. Maybe 5%. They kept repeating next Thursday’s date. Il ship pal. The 28th. And saying names of places nearby. Kyeongju. Palgongsan. Various Hot Springs. Chang-mal (very). Choh-ya (good). Rori-Ga (that’s me!). After several minutes Mr. Lee turned to me. “Do you have an appointment for next Thursday?” When I first arrived here, this question struck me as odd. Now, it seems as natural as “How’s the kimchi?” No, I don’t have any plans for Thursday. “It is your holiday?” That’s right, I don’t work on Thursdays. “We will make welcome party for you.” Really? “Yes. Many places. Many, many good places near here. Let us think. Thursday will be your welcome party. We will eat pig meat and drink wine.” And with that he returned to the Korean conversation. I literally cannot wait until Thursday.

The Fan Club

Chanta and I have a fan club of about 10 members. Since the first day they spotted us, these guys have taken to hanging out in the alley beside our apartment, waiting for us to emerge. As soon as we open the door, they rush at us, forming a semi-circle around us. They have one appointed spokesman who yells at us. “What’s your name? Oooooooo. Oh, my God. Marry me. What’s your phone number? Come with me!” Normally, this might be cause for concern. Seeing that none of them are over 10 years old, however, we’re not too worried. I just wonder where they’re learning these phrases. Chanta’s only comment, “Geez. No wonder we’ve had such bad experiences with men here. They start them early…”

What Am I Saying?

I have a couple of Korean friends that I email with. We usually type what we want to communicate in both Korean and English, hoping that one of the phrases will make sense to the recipient. I received this (in English only) from one of my snowboarding buddies:

hi! ^^

hyo joo memory it is not born?

It is joyful from Muju.

I develop a film , but It appears I to be taking the photograph by mistake. sorry~~~@ ^^

New Year’s Day consecutive holiday it sends to be happy.

Consecutive holiday last day the one day when it is happy toy route…

bye~~~¢½

I’m not sure how to respond. And I now suspect that when I write in Korean it probably makes this little sense as well…