Oil and Linoleum Don’t Mix…

My floors in the lovely Pink Palace are faux hardwood linoleum. Easy to clean, good conductor of heat, I can’t complain.

This is probably the driest country I’ve ever lived in. I have already used my entire (what I thought would be) one year’s supply of lotion in a mere three months. I hate having dry skin. I keep lotion at school, I keep lotion in my purse, I am constantly reapplying lotion. One day I was complaining to Chanta about my dry skin. She suggested I apply baby oil after a hot shower, then apply lotion, to lock in the oil. A sure secret to soft skin. I searched the store for baby oil. No baby oil, but seaweed oil. Close enough. I’ve dubbed this process “Operation Moisturization.” Everyday, after my shower, I lather myself with oil, let it sink in, then rub lotion in. I think it’s helping.

Today, as I was finishing applying the seaweed oil, the phone rang. As I’ve mentioned before, this is an unusual occurrence. So I ran the, oh, 10 feet across my apartment to answer my phone. I thought I could simultaneously stop and answer the phone at the same time. Which shouldn’t have been a problem. Except that I had just applied seaweed oil rather generously. As my hand picked up the receiver, my feet slipped out from below me. Bam! Trying not to scream, I calmly said, “Hello?” Job-sayo… Job-sayo. “Job-sayo…” [fast Korean phrase] “Mian hamnida. Miguk. Hangul – ani-o.” And with that he hung up. Wrong number. As I laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling, I thought, this could be worse. I’m not sure how, but it could be worse….

The Yellow Sand Storms

I greeted my students the other day by commenting on the beautiful spring weather we were having. “No teach-a. Spring. Very bad. Very, very bad. Look.” They went to the whiteboard and drew a map of China, Korea and Japan. Then a tornado of dust coming from China, over Korea, to Japan. “Very bad. No breathe.” I’ve had emails from people warning me about the dust and pollen here, so I did believe them. But, these girls have a tendency to exaggerate. They are the same girls who told me Korean girls don’t get their ears pierced because if you pierce your ear a nerve ending (white thread) might be exposed. If you pull the white thread it leads straight to your brain and basically unravels your brain. Almost all of my female students believe this. So I tend to take anything they tell me with a grain of salt.

I should have listened to them about the sand storms. As I left so-yae today I noticed it was extremely hazy. I had walked maybe, oh, 30 feet, when I realized I was having a hard time breathing. My throat was extremely dry. I tried to swallow. My lips were parched. The inside of my mouth felt like dry cotton. My eyes were stinging. It suddenly clicked. This was what they were talking about. This was a yellow sand storm. Oh, my god. It is miserable.

Maybe I should think twice about getting that second piercing…

Palgongsan In The Spring

I met Mr. Nam at DongA at 9:30 this morning. Same bat time, same bat place. On our way to Palgongsan. As we were driving out of town, he said, “My friend. He come, too. Okay?” Given my experiences with random Korean men lately, I was a little hesitant. But this was one of Mr. Nam’s friends. And I trust Mr. Nam. I think. So we picked up his friend. Mr. Koo. Who, even though he is an English instructor (he helps students prepare for the TOEIC exam), speaks no English.

On the ride to the mountain, I said, “Do you think it will be snowing today?” Mr. Nam smirked (as if, you silly thing), “No.” But every other time we have been, the mountain has greeted us with snow. Even when it was sunny in Daegu. “Not today. Today, warm. The mountain will welcome you – fresh blossoms on the trees.” How can I not smile at that?

Sure enough, it was warm once we arrived to Palgongsan. The three of us started up the path. Mr. Nam and Mr. Koo had several exchanges in Korean. He turned to me, “How is your condition today?” Excuse me? What condition? “You. Your condition. Okay?” Oh, yes, I feel fine, thank you. “Okay. We take hard path. Okay?” Sure. Some more exchanges in Korean.

The hard path was just that. Hard. Straight up. And up. And up. Haven’t we reached the top yet? I could hear both men breathing heavily. I was, too, but trying to hide it. I’m stubborn. I won’t be the first to stop. They kept looking at me, saying, “Are you okay? How do you feel?” I would smile and say, oh, fine. Finally, Mr. Koo stopped at a beautiful scenic overlook. We sat on a huge rock and viewed the vast valley and mountainous ridges in front of us. Mr. Koo peeled a tangerine and offered it to me. Ahhh. The sweetness. The juiciness. It tasted like honey. Mr. Nam turned to me. “You must be professional.” What? What do you mean? “Professional mountain climber. Look. Me, Mr. Koo. Heavy breaths. Very hot. You. It is easy. You are strong. You look like flower.” No, it’s hard for me, too. Very hard. Can’t you hear me breathing behind you? “No. I think, you not teacher. You mountain climber.” And we laughed.

We continued upwards. For almost 2 hours. It was such a different Palgongsan from what I’ve experienced before. Warm. Dry. Musty. Birds chirping loudly. Animals scurrying to and fro. A small, winding footpath, barely wide enough for one. You could see the worn path, then it would disappear. Then reappear, far ahead. This was definitely a path not traveled much. On our journey up the mountain we saw only one other hiker. At one point, Mr. Nam said, “Come. With me. Mr. Koo will rest. I show you something.” Where are we going? “Somewhere no one knows about. Beautiful. Come.” We dodged tree branches, climbed over rocks, then, wowwwwwwww….. We were on a rocky ledge. We could see the entire mountain spread below us. The temples. The city. The ridges in the distance. Mr. Nam smiled. He was happy I was impressed. “Now, let’s go top.” He pointed to a huge rock and smiled. I laughed. He’s joking. He’s got to be joking. There’s no way I’m going to attempt to climb that. I will fall off and die. Sure enough, he started towards the rock. I dragged behind. “Coming?” I smiled. Maybe not today. Maybe we will climb the rock another day. “Okay. Next time.” Whew.

We reached the summit shortly after. Seo Bong. East Peak. We rested on the rocks and felt the wind cool us. [fast exchange in Korean] “Mr. Koo – very surprised – you to top.” Why? “Young Korean women, not strong. You, very strong. Only ajumaa (older Korean women) on mountain.” Why’s that? “Young Korean women, weak. Ajumaa. Very strong. Years of hard work. Children and housekeeping. Strong enough to climb mountains.” Interesting… But true. For all of the hiking I’ve done, I’ve never seen anyone my age (or younger) on the trails. When I’ve asked my Korean girlfriends to come hiking with me they only laugh.

Halfway down the mountain we stopped for lunch. Kimbop and fruit. Yummmmmm. Mr. Nam peeled an apple with his Swiss army knife, peeling the skin so that it curled in one long ribbon, dangling from the apple. Oooooo – you are so good at that! I exclaimed. “Me – professional peeler. You – professional climber. Mr. Koo – professional soju drinker.” And they laughed hysterically.

We reached the end of the hike. I was tired, but happy. Another great hike. We stopped at the outdoor snack stand/cafe near the parking lot. Mr. Koo went to buy cigarettes and came back with a can of something. “Yogi.” Here – and he handed me the can. I looked at it. Pocari Sweat. Yes, sweat. I thought I had misread it at first (sweet), but I hadn’t. Hmmmm. Who is Pocari? And why did he bottle his sweat? I popped the lid and started to drink. It was very, ummm, nutrasweety. Fake sweetness. But he was very happy I was drinking it, so I finished the can. Smiled, and offered Khamsa hamniddaaaaa.

In the car I could barely stay awake. The warm sun shining through the windows, the tired aching in my legs. I started to nod off and Mr. Nam said something to me. What? I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. “I worry about you. Tired?” Yes, the sun makes me sleepy. “You, sleep. Rest. Now.” Okay, I love anyone who lets me sleep in the car. It’s the best feeling. The lull of the motor, the warm sun magnified by the windows, the softness of the seats…

Half hour later we were in front of my apartment. “Monday? Hiking, again?” Sounds great! See you then! Annyong hee kay say-yo!

On the Subject of Dogs…

Many people have written me asking if I’ve tried dog yet. I haven’t (that I know of). Supposedly, it’s expensive. And isn’t as prevalent as it once was. The whole Leno Olympics joke thing sparked a new round of discussions. In the teacher’s room, another teacher vehemently asserted he would not ever try dog, because it’s a domesticated animal. I, in addition to other things, enjoy being the devil’s advocate from time to time.

me: There are many domesticated animals. Domesticated simply means to train to live in a human environment and be of use to humans. Do you eat cow? That’s a domesticated animal.

he: well, yeah.

me: so what’s the difference?

he: well, dogs are cute.

me: some people think cows are cute. or sheep. or pigs.

he: well, a dog is a person’s pet.

me: they don’t eat their pets. these are dogs raised to be eaten, just as Americans raise cows, sheep, etc.

he: well, I wouldn’t eat a horse

me: (a little confused by this logic) okay…

he: and monkeys are cute, too.

me: (even more confused) yes…

he: but they’re eaten in parts of the world

me: yes…

he: they’re even a delicacy.

me: so what’s your point?

he: that i would never try dog.

Okay, now I can’t even communicate with someone who speaks the same native language as I do. *sigh*

I think the whole “eating dogs” issue was summed up best by one of my high school students (from a journal entry):

We, Koreans, have very unique culture. It is eating dogs! When someone who lives in other country hears this culture, they may think Koreans eat their pets. But it is not. No one eats their own pets. There are eatable dogs that are different from pets. It is only our native culture and we are not bad people. Even in Korea, there are many people who don’t like to eat them. But I heard that dog meat is very delicious and are very good to our health. I saw many foreigners who don’t want to visit Korea because of eating dogs. It is ok. But I don’t like people who criticize it in spite of not knowing well. It is just our culture! They should recognize the cultural gap between their country and Korea.

Day Trippin…

I woke up this morning feeling like I just had to get away. Things at work have been, well, not as pleasant as they once were. One teacher quit. Somewhat out of the blue. Another is leaving in a week. I’m tired of being misunderstood. I’m tired of misunderstanding. I’m tired of not having 1000 friends I can call at a moment’s notice. But then I thought, Lori, you are away. How much farther away can you get? Ahhhhh.

Undeterred, I headed to the train station armed with my Korean phrasebook, My Lonely Planet Korea book, a ponytail holder, a novel and a lipstick. These are my travel necessities these days. I kind of like not having baggage. At least not the kind I’m toting behind me. Hmmmm… where should I go? I miss the ocean. So much. Pusan – that’s where I’ll go. The second largest city in Korea and the largest sea port. Only an hour or so away by train. Got my ticket, got on the train. Read the four pages in Lonely Planet about what I could see there. Bird sanctuary? Not in the mood for that. Korean Riviera? That’s a scary thought. Temple? Could do that…

This Way, Thatta Way

Once in Pusan I immediately headed for the subway station. I love subways. Especially in a foreign country. There are signs. You don’t have to worry about misprounouncing where you want to go. There are maps. You know exactly where you are and how far you are from your destination. Beomeosa, the temple, had its own subway stop. The last on the line. Once out of the subway station, I tried to get my bearings. I saw street signs for Beomeosa; I’ll just follow those. How far can it be?

Half an hour later I was still walking. Up a steep hill. Then the sidewalk ended. Just ended. There was no more. And the road was narrow, steep, and curvy. I haven’t blogged about drivers in this country yet. I’m sure there are safe, conscientious drivers somewhere in Korea. I just haven’t met them yet. So I didn’t want to be walking along a narrow, winding road where the possiblity of a car careening around a curve was a more than distinct possibility.

I saw a man walking along – good target. “Shillye hamnida….Beomeosa? Odi?” He laughed. Bus-a. “Bus-a? Odi?” He pointed to the ground where we were standing and motioned like he was flagging a bus. “Okay, so if I stand here and wave like this a bus will stop? Even though this isn’t a bus stop?” He nodded, laughed, and kept walking. Okay… No bus came. But a taxi did. And it was still quite a bit further up to the temple. I’m glad I didn’t keep walking.

I Love Temples In The Springtime

As I expected, it was peaceful at the temple. Hardly anyone there at all. A beautiful spring day exploring a temple built in AD 678 nestled in the mountains. The magnolias, as well as the plum trees, are starting to bloom here. I saw new cherry blossoms. The sun was so bright it was almost blinding. I felt as though I was in dream-like state, walking from hall to hall, reading what I could, trying to burn the serene images of Buddha into my mind.

One of the halls in particular caught my attention. From far away, through the open door, I could see what looked like twinkles of light. As I got closer, I realized they *were* twinkles of light. The walls were lined with miniature ceramic Buddhas, each about 3 inches tall, each holding a small candle. Which actually looked like a miniature Christmas tree light bulb. I started counting. I estimated there were about 5000 Buddhas, each bearing a light. I think on one of my previous visits to a temple someone had told me that this type of Buddha is dedicated to a deceased loved one. I was the only person in the small hall. I sat on a prayer cushion, taking in all the details. The thousands of Buddhas behind glass. The reflection of the woodwork in the glass over the Buddhas. The looming, golden Buddhas on the table. The subtle, yet sweet, smell of the incense. The fresh lilies in immaculate arrangements. The intense blues and greens of the painted designs on the ceiling. And then everything became blurry. My eyes were filled with tears and I wasn’t sure why. And when I tried to figure out why more and more tears rolled down my cheeks.

As exciting as it is to experience a new culture, I miss my old life. There are days when I go many hours and don’t speak, literally don’t open my mouth, to anyone. That in itself has been the largest shock about being here. I’m a talker. Not a phone person. A real live, face to face, heart-to-heart conversationalist. Except that I haven’t been, for almost 3 months now. And I’m a toucher. I have always greeted my friends with huge hugs and besos. No one touches here. Even the elementary children don’t hug their teachers, which is a completely foreign concept to me. In San Francisco, there were times I couldn’t walk across the classroom because I had children attached like barnacles to my legs. So, this is my life now. And I’ll make the best of it. But there are times when I crave just a sliver of my former life.

I left the hall, squinting into the afternoon sun. As I was leaving the temple, an older man came up to me and shouted, “Korea can-dee! Korea can-dee!” I was startled both by his sudden movements and by his voice. But I was also intrigued, so I followed him. He led me to a small table with a huge blob of brown stuff on it. I laughed, “Yayyyyyy. Hanna do.” He took a lathe and began scraping the huge blob. What have I just ordered? Then he pressed it onto a stick. I paid him and started walking down the winding road. I tried to bite into my Korean candy concoction. I could bite, but not un-bite. My mouth was stuck. I couldn’t get my teeth out of what I had just bitten into. This was the stickiest, tackiest, most non-relenting candy I’ve ever had. I had to take my hands and pry the candy first from my bottom teeth, then from my top. The flavor was great – gingery, peanuty sweetness. But to try to chew it was a death wish. I really would never talk again. So I tried to suck on it (not as much damage to the dental work), but I’m an impatient person and wanted to chew. But as soon as I did, my teeth were stuck together again. At that point, I thought to myself, “Why am I eating this?” and tossed it into a garbage can. Along the road, I flagged a bus (it really did stop!) and took it back down the mountain. Caught the subway to the other end of town to head to Taejongdae Park, described by Lonely Planet as “a very pleasant place with beautiful views out to sea.” I could use a good dose of the sea right now.

A Maze of Fishdom

I got off at the appointed subway stop and started wandering. I was obviously at the port. Many, many huge ships docked. And shops upon shops of fishing supplies – nets, poles, tackle. I turned down an alley, thinking it was a shortcut to the bus stop. I didn’t find the bus stop, but what a treasure awaited me. Alleys, leading into more alleys, leading into more alleys, of fish. Every kind of fish imaginable. Dried fish. Fresh fish. Dead fish. Live fish. Fish with heads. Fish with no heads. Small fish. Big fish. All on boxes. Or in Rubbermaid bowls, splashing to be freeeeeee! Each turn took me deeper into the maze of fishdom. Again, I felt like I was in a dream. Splashing through the streets, listening to old women try to hawk their fish on me. As the sun got lower and lower in the sky, I finally broke loose from the spell of the fish. I hailed a taxi, “Taejongedae ka-jushipsayo.” And we were off.

By The Sea

We crossed a bridge, then wove through narrow streets crammed with buildings of all kinds: high rise apartments, mom and pop diners, spare parts stores, convenience stores, academies. I didn’t see anything that resembled a park. After about 20 minutes he stopped. “Yogi.” Here? Where? He pointed straight ahead. Sure enough, there was an entrance to a park. So I paid him, got out, and wished him peace.

At the entrance to the park was a defunct amusement park. Not exactly what I was expecting. Hmmm… I continued up a sidewalk, then noticed stone steps leading down to the right. I followed them. To the sea. To the most amazing sunset. But what can be said about sunsets that hasn’t already been said? It will sound cliche. A ball of fire, slowly descending behind jagged mountains, lone pine trees silhouetted. Ships, lazily bobbing at sea, cast aglow from the golden orb. Words do not do justice. I sat on the rocks, listening to the waves crash against the shore, watching the sun drop, drop, drop, disappear. Then, after it was gone, enjoying that brief period of calm at dusk.

The World of the Baths…

I caught a taxi back to the subway station. Let’s see – I’m not ready to go back to Daegu yet. Dinner? Or Heosimcheong – “possibly the largest hot springs bathhouse in Asia.” No question. To the hot springs. I entered at 7:45 pm. The receptionist told me, “Finish-ee 9.” Okay. I stashed my belongings in a locker, and entered the world of the public baths. Picture a room, larger than any room you’ve seen before. Multi-level. Many green plants and trees. Filled with pools and pools and pools. Hot pools, warm pools, cold pools. Pools with waterfalls. Pools for children. Herbal pools. Mud pools. Charcoal pools. Open air pools (on the deck, under the stars). And the walls lined with low positioned “showers” – the hand held Mr. Showers so popular here. Women were sitting on small stools, scrubbing their children, scrubbing themselves. Soaking their hair in buckets of water. It was sensory overload for me. After quickly showering, I went from pool to pool, exploring the different waters, temperatures, formations. I was a little self-conscious at first – the small girls, especially, would point and whisper to each other when they saw me. My white skin stood out among the many variations of yellow, tan, and brown. Unlike on the streets, I had nothing to hide behind. I was completely exposed.

There was a frosted glass screen with what seemed to be oversized faucets behind it. I peered around. Coming from the ceiling were streams, no gushings, of water, tumbling a good 15 feet before crashing against the stone floor. And a woman was underneath each stream, twisting this way and that so that the water pounded her shoulders, her back, her legs. There was one “faucet” not being used. I attempted to position myself under it. Ow! The water slapped me hard. I almost went numb. I had to close my eyes to escape the force of the splashing water. But then, it felt good. Similar to a deep tissue massage. I sat with my back to the force of the water. First it pounded my shoulders. Then I readjusted so that it hit my upper back. And then I laid on the stone, face down, as it pounded my lower back. The crashing and splashing of the water was deafening. It almost lulled me to sleep. The sensation varied between feeling so good and feeling so painful. At quarter of nine I pulled myself away to soak one last time under the stars. Then bathtime was done.

Raw Fish, Round 3

I realized I had not eaten since the candy incident earlier in the morning. I wandered the streets, looking for a restaurant that called to me. I was surprised at how many Japanese restaurants there were. Then it hit me – duh – I’m in a sea port. Of course there will be lots of Japanese restaurants. Having had two not so pleasant experiences with men “taking me to eat raw fish” here in Korea, I decided I would take myself to eat raw fish. And I enjoyed the meal immensely.

I Don’t Do Military Time

So it was just by sheer dumb luck that I arrived at the train station in time to catch the last train to Daegu. I had mis-read the timetable eariler in the day and thought I had many options to return home. 11:00 pm was the last train for the night; I settled into my seat and within minutes we were off. As I stumbled back into my apartment at 12:30, I thought, “Another wonderful day in Korea…”

Just When You Needed It Most…

I discovered an interesting phenomenon last night. After classes ended, Tom, Young and I went out. First to dinner. Then to karaoke. Oh, the joys. I don’t understand why people say, “Oh, you sing so well. That was great.” No, it wasn’t. I’m tone deaf. I accepted this invitation knowing I would suck. You knew that, too, when you invited me. So don’t try to pretend that I’m suddenly a decent, even good, singer. I’m not. I’ve accepted it. We don’t need to play games.

Anyway. Having gotten so pumped up by singing we decided to continue downtown to go dancing. It was, oh, 1 ish. Before we caught a cab, Tom announced, “I have to stop into C-Space (convenience store).” Me: Getting cigarettes? Him: No, using the ATM. Me: Really? Can I watch? Him: (quizzical look) Me: I’m scared the machine will eat my card; everything’s in Korean – I want to watch. Him: (laughing) C’mon.

We entered the store. Young stayed outside to smoke. Tom inserted his ATM card. Pushed the buttons. Looked easy enough. The card came back out. The receipt came out, but no money. That’s weird. “I know I have money in my account. Try your card.” So I performed the same actions. And got the same results. Card returned. Receipt output. But no money. “Go get Young so he can read the message on the screen.”

I ran outside and drug Young into the convenience store. “What’s it say?” Hmmm. No time. “Huh? No money?” No. No time. You can’t withdraw money after midnight. “What? You’ve got to be kidding.” No. No time. From midnight until 10 am. No time, no money.

Am I missing something here? The point of ATMs is all money, all the time. I think the only time I’ve ever used an ATM is after midnight. Live and learn…

In The Teacher’s Room…

I was telling Chanta about Monday night’s dinner experience (I can truly laugh at it now) and one of the other teachers overheard me. As I finished the story, he said, “God, that’s a great line…”You will be my sexual partner”…I’ve got to try that sometime.” And he was serious. Scary, but true.

Perception, Once Again

I’m amazed at how people can experience the same event, yet interpret it, react to it, in such astronomically different ways. I want to study this. It has really intrigued me.

There is one class I teach, an elementary class. And they think that the volume of their voices will somehow compensate for their lack of vocabulary. So whatever they say, they yell it. And usually over one another. This is an unusual phenomenom here. This is a quiet society. I don’t have any other class that even comes close to behaving like this one. And I love them. I love how excited they get when I walk in and they yell, “Teach-a, teach-a, teach-a!” And how, when they are trying to think of the answer, they scream, “Wait-a, wait-a, wait-a! But, but, but, but…” They are so nervous I’m going to call on someone else. And how, when I’m drawing at the whiteboard, one will jump out of his or her chair and run up to me and pick up a pen and start drawing, exclaiming, “This-a, this-a, what this-a?”

But, I also realize that the school where I teach is well, close quarters. And the lobby not only has tv monitors visually monitoring what I’m teaching, but also has audio receptors, which tend to amplify anything said or done within the classroom. So everyday when I walk in I remind them about “inside” voices vs. “outside” voices. “Oh, yes-a, teach-a, shhhhhhhh….” And they remember for about, oh, 2 minutes. But they are so inquisitive, and so enthusiastic, the 45 minutes pass in a blink and I’m always sad to leave them.

After teaching them today, I literally bounced into the teacher’s room. They give me so much energy. “I love that class. They are so awesome.” Teacher #1 says, “The class in Room #1?” Yes. Do you have them? “I hate that class.” Teacher #2, “I hate them, too. I dread it every time I have to teach them. God, what is with them? They never shut up.” But, but, I like them. They’re a great class. They’re just, eager, that’s all. They’re really good kids. “Are you on drugs? What is wrong with you?” And with that, they left me. They’re still my favorite class.

Joke’s on Me…

At so-yae yesterday, Mr. Lau told a joke that was obviously very funny. The men could not stop laughing. Mr. Lee tried to explain it to me. This is what I understood: a monk was in the bathroom, a high school student came in and fell, he yelled at the monk. Mr. Lee was trying so hard to make me understand. I simply apologized and said, “I don’t understand.”

So today, he tried again. A monk was at the public baths. “Oooooh, the public baths, not a bathroom. Okay.” And he was in the tub. He had stretched his legs out under the water. A high scool senior came in and waded into the bath. He didn’t realize the monk’s legs were stretched out and he tripped on them. As he emerged from the water, he cussed at the monk, saying, “Dammit! Who do you think you are?” The monk said, “I am a monk.” The high school senior then said, “Stupid! Stupid! I am smarter than you.” Mr. Lee waited for me to laugh. When I didn’t, he explained that the word for “monk” in Korean also is the word for “middle school student.” And given this is quite the heirarchical society, I could see how it could be a funny joke. So I laughed. And the men were happy.

At dinner with Michelle and Cindy (both Korean) I decided to tell the joke. In English. Just to see what their reaction would be. I told it, they listened attentively, and when I said the punchline, they rolled hysterically. Somehow, telling a joke that you don’t really understand, but other people laugh hysterically at, is not as satisfying as when you actually understand the humor…

You Are My Purple Magnolia…

Well, no wedding bells were ringing when I entered so-yae this morning, so I don’t think I agreed to marry Son-seongnim (I was informed today that Son-seong is rude, you have to add nim to the end to be polite – will I ever learn?) Song’s son. But I’m still not completely sure. As I entered, Son-seongnim Song exclaimed, “White-ta Day! White-ta Day!” Oh, yesss… And he proceeded to tell me that this was when men gave ladies flowers and candy. “Happy White-ta Day!” and with that we had coffee.

Mr. Lau (funny man) was practicing Chinese flower painting. “Ohhhhh, magnolias!” I exclaimed. They were amazing. A beautiful scroll of a branch and several blooms greeting the morning. Mr. Lee said, “I do not know what these are called in English.” Magnolias. “I do not know.” Magnolias. “Maybe I will look it up.” Magnolias. They are magnolias. We sat down to have coffee and Mr. Lee pulled out a Korean-English dictionary. He scanned the pages, using his reading glasses and a magnifying glass, then said, “Ahhhhh – mak-noe-leee-ahs.” Really? Mr. Lau looked at me, then said, “Blue?” What? “What (and pointed at my sweater)?” Well, technically, it’s periwinkle. But let’s start with purple. Purple. “You my pulpul mak-noe-lee-yah,” and laughed hysterically. I think it was a compliment.

To Teach or Not To Teach…

After so-yae I stopped by the school to drop off some papers. I saw Mr. Pyong. Hi! Mr. Pyong, can we talk? About yesterday’s talk with Chairman Kim? “Of course, of course.” Were you asking me to teach the mother’s class? “Maybe. If you like.” Well, every week? or just one time? “Yes. Wednesday, Friday. As you like.” Would I get paid extra? “No……” Well, I’m already teaching a maximum load. 30 classes. And there are many other teachers who are only teaching 10 or 15 classes. Maybe you could ask them to teach. “Yes…I just ask you. Chairman Kim ask you. No? No problem. Just ask-a.” Okay. Thank you. So I will not teach tomorrow, right? “Okay. As you like.” Okay, cleared that one up. I think.

Special Delivery…

Chanta was hanging out at my place this afternoon. Searching for chocolate and chillin’. We heard a sound. A song. I looked at her quizzically. What’s that? “It’s your doorbell, silly.” But, you’re the only person I know here. Who else would be ringing my bell? “Answer it.” I opened the door and was met by the biggest bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen. Ever *seen,* not just ever received. What? I couldn’t remember the Korean words for “What is this?” Que es esso? kept running through my head. Wrong language, Rori. The delivery man, seeing my confusion, pointed to the card and said, “Card-a. You.” He passed the bouquet and a box to me, I thanked him and he was off.

I came back into my room. Chanta exclaimed, “Oh, my god. Please tell me they are from anyone except Mr. Drunk Dialer.” I don’t know. “Maybe they’re from your dad.” Chanta, this is a a made up holiday. No one outside of Korea has any idea it’s a special day. Had you ever heard of White Day before coming here? She nodded in agreement. Sure enough, they were from Mr. Drunk Dialer. “What’s in the box?” I don’t know. “Open it, girl!” Okay, okay. I unwrapped the paper and found a box of shrimp chocolates in my lap. Not shrimp flavored chocolates (thank goodness) but chocolates shaped like shrimp. Who thought this was a good idea? And do they still have a job?

Chanta was psyched. She had found her chocolate. I can mainstream sugar all day long, but don’t care for chocolate at all. So she knew she was getting the whole box. I was still in shock. She asked me how many roses there were. I had no idea. We started counting, but quit after we reached 50. We were nowhere close to completing the count. Flowers are one of my favorite things in the world, so I felt like I should have been happy to receive such a generous gift. But I wasn’t. If anything it just made me mad. Why is he doing this? Why won’t he just leave me alone?

To Bang or Not To Bang?

I had an appointment to get my hair cut tonight. It’s been 4 months since my last cut; it’s time. I rationalized that I haven’t seen anyone here with a horrible haircut. People are pretty stylish. How bad could it be? Michelle and Cindy accompanied me for moral support and translation services. Snip, snip, snip. Chop, chop. Measure. Pull. Hmmmm. Snip. Okay. Well. My hair is cut. And I have bangs. I haven’t had bangs since the oh, fourth grade. And now I remember why. In hindsight, I should have recognized a-everyone here has straight, fine hair and b-I do not. Oh, well, it’ll grow.

White Girls Can’t Dance

I made dinner for the girls tonight. After dinner we were chatting about this and that. School. University. Where we might teach next. Michelle mentioned DDR*. What’s that? “Oh, so fun! Game. Dance. Fun!” Okay, let’s try it one day. “Okay!” and she grabbed her coat. I guess there’s no time like the present – let’s go. We headed to the first arcade. DDR was down. To the next arcade. We walked in to a young teenager jumping this way and that on brightly colored flashing lights on the floor. It’s full body Simon! Michelle pointed us to a similar machine around the corner. We put in our 300 won (20 cents). First Michelle and I competed. Bright arrows flashed on the screen. We were supposed to place our feet on corresponding bright arrows on the floor. But wait, is red forward or backward? And when do you jump? Why is it saying I missed? What’s that symbol? Halfway through the song I gave up and just started dancing. It felt much better. And I think I actually got a better score than had I continued to embarrass myself jumping this way and that…

*I think it’s an abbreviation for Dance Dance Revolution, but I’m not sure.

Perception

I’m beginning to feel like I don’t know anything. Or anything I did know is now null and void.

Part 1

So-yae lessons are going particularly well. I’ve learned 3 strokes now. I can hold the brush without my hand cramping. The men are teaching me new Korean words everyday. Mr. Lee, my translator, had to leave early today. No problem. Most of the lesson is me working in silence anyway. As I was cleaning up, Son-Seng Song approached me. “Miss Lori?” Yes. “Here. Look.” He pulled out a scrap of paper and began to scribble on it. First in Korean, then English. Mumbling words. Finally, he wrote something approaching, “daughter-in-law” and said it at the same time. Yes? “You understand?” Yes. I smiled. I waited for him to continue. And waited. “Okay.” And he left the room. What did I just say I understood?

Part 2

As I was eating my rice and kimchi for lunch, my phone rang. In itself an unusual occurance. I answered. “Miss Lori?” Yes… “This is Mr. Pyong. Can you come to the school right now? Chairman Kim would like to see you.” Oooh. I hate that feeling. I immediately think to myself, “What have I done wrong?” There’s something about when someone says they want to see me immediately that strikes fear in me. I told him I wasn’t in my uniform. “No problem. Come right now.” So, I went.

I arrived at the school, all smiles. “Annong ha-sayo!” And was greeted in kind. Smiles. Laughter. Greetings. Chairman Kim and Mr. Pyong ushered me into an office. Sit, sit, sit. Chairman Kim looked at a newspaper on the table. He made a comment about something being beautiful (one of my vocabulary words). Mr. Pyong translated that Chairman Kim either said the woman in the photo in the newspaper was beautiful or I was beautiful, he wasn’t sure which. Have I mentioned that Mr. Pyong is a good-hearted man, but not the best translator? This is going to be interesting…

Chairman Kim began with pleasantries. How are you? How are you enjoying your time in Korea? You are the best teacher.

I inserted a quick,”Khamsa hamnidaaaa.”

You have friends, right?

Yes.

We need another teacher. Another beautiful teacher. You are a good teacher. Your friend will be good teacher. Your friend will be beautiful teacher. More beautiful than you.

(I think to myself, That’s taking the associative property to the extreme, but okay.)

Hahahahaha. Joke.

(I smiled weakly. I’m not sure what the joke was.)

Our school, not many students. Lower than winter session.

I know.

So we have special classes. Intensive classes for Wednesday. Classes for ajumaa (mothers).

Yes.

But when we have regular enrollment, no special classes.

Okay.

Our school, financial trouble. But no financial trouble. Need new teacher, new students. Chairman Kim, rich man. No trouble.

I don’t understand.

Chairman Kim, two schools. Other school, maybe financial trouble, but two schools, no financial trouble. All good, okay?

I still don’t understand.

Don’t worry. Best teacher. We like you, we like Chanta very, very much. We will take care of you.

Okay. Thank you.

Are you comfortable?

What?

Are you comfortable? Is your life okay? Anything worries you?

(Ooooooo. Are they fishing for information on Mr. Drunk Dialer? I really don’t want to start accusations.) Everything is fine.

Because if you are uncomfortable, if you have worry, you tell us. We take care of you.

Okay.

We want you to be happy.

Okay.

We want you to do things for the school.

Like what?

Best teacher. New students.

I don’t understand.

Chairman Kim said you went to his house for lunch.

Yes.

His wife, she like you very, very much.

Thank you. I enjoyed meeting her, too.

She want you to come again.

Thank you. I would like that.

When you go to their home, you take very beautiful flowers.

Yes.

You are beautiful on outside, and your actions are beautiful.

Thank you.

Hahahahahahahaha. Joke.

(Blank stare. Oh, okay. I have no idea what the joke was.)

So you will do things for our school?

What things? What are you talking about?

The mothers, they are meeting now. They have class with Mark.

Okay.

You go in, you talk to them for 20 minutes. Say hello, ask their names. Woman to woman.

Right now?

Okay, not now. Maybe another day.

Okay. When?

Maybe Wednesday, maybe Friday. Which day is good for you?

Either. Just let me know in advance.

We want you to be happy.

Okay. Thank you.

We like you very, very much.

Thank you.

Have you eaten lunch?

No, not yet.

Chairman Kim has not eaten either.

Okay.

But he will not eat with you. Hahahahahahahaha.

(Again, blank stare.) Okay.

Okay, that is all. Thank you, Miss Lori.

I have no idea what this was about. But it took a good 45 minutes.

Update

When I arrived to school this afternoon, in uniform and ready to teach, Mark approached me. “So, I hear we’ll be team teaching the mothers. They’re a good class. Not bad.” What are you talking about? “They told me that you’ll teach the moms on Friday and I’ll teach them on Wednesday. One and a half hours each day. We don’t have books yet. Mr. Drunk Dialer is working on that. We should meet with him tomorrow or the next day.” Oh, god. This is what I agreed to?

Chanta had another insight. Girls/women live with their families until they get married, often into their late 20s, early 30s. Here we are, two single women, living in a foreign country with no family. She thinks they are acting paternally, wanting to make sure we are adjusting okay (she got the same “are you comfortable talk” on Monday). Maybe.

I have no idea what I’ve agreed to today.

In My Inbox…

This is one of the many reasons I love my dad. After seeing my post about dinner with Mr. Kim, he sent me an email, subject “news.”

“I have old news, bad news and good news. 1. Old news. Judging from your last blog, the snake is still in the garden. 2. Bad news – bank transaction. 3. – Good news – reversal of bank transaction. Love, Dad.”

No drama. Lightly humorous. Life will be fine. Thanks, Dad.

I received several random emails today (aka “spam” – I’m telling you, I am soooooo easily amused).

The first, an email about a musical instrument trade show. In Germany. From a Pakistani company. Targeting music lovers in Korea. How in the world did I end up on this mailing list?

The second one. My friend EmLee and I have a habit of saying “OLE!” whenever we’re feeling blue. Because, you can’t be sad when you shout “OLE!” Try it. It’s a happy word. I got an email today, subject: Call Out Gouranga Be Happy! Hmmm. I’ver never heard of this. Should I just delete? Curiosity won out. I opened it, and there, in a bright blue box, in beautiful yellow letters, were just those words: Call Out Gouranga Be Happy! I don’t know what or who Gouranga is, but when I called it out, I was happy. Try it.