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.

Got Milk?

I don’t understand it. I’m not skinny. Especially by Asian standards. Yet I am constantly being offered food. Usually, by people I know. But now, by strangers as well.

Today was a beautiful spring day. Warm, not hot. Gentle breeze. Fresh. After so-yae I decided to meander before going home. Just enjoy being outside. I walked along this street and that, then decided to go where all the women sell their produce along the street. Even if I don’t buy anything, I love walking along this street. There is only about 2 feet of actual sidewalk that is not covered by baskets of beans, stacks of cabbage, bowls of live fish. Most of the produce is a dull green, or white, or brown. But every now and then I’ll spy piles of intense red strawberries or incredibly bright orange tangerines. I was meadering, looking at the produce, trying to identify items, trying to avoid slipping in the fish water on the sidewalk, when I heard “Hell-llo.” I looked up, there was a man standing beside a small table. On the table were small cartons of milk, the kind I used to drink in elementary school. “Annong ha-sayo,” I replied. Russia? “Ani-o, Miguk.” Where? “San Francisco.” Ahhhhh. San Francisco. You drink milk? “Excuse me?” Milk – you like milk? “Ummmmm. I guess. (anticipating a hard sell) But I don’t drink very much.” My present to you. I will bring you milk everyday. “No, thank you. That’s very generous of you. But no.” Present. I bring to your house everyday. One carton of milk. My present to you. You no pay. You drink my milk. “Thank you (laughing), thank you, but no. Annong hee kay say-o!”

naive – lacking worldly experience and understanding

Okay. How does this happen? I am really naive? I never thought so before, but now I’m beginning to wonder. I was looking forward to going out with Mr. Kim tonight – to eat “raw fish.” Another new friend. He picks me up. He tells me in the car he’s missed me this week. Okay, that’s a little weird, but okay. We go to the “raw fish” restaurant, Dong Hay. East Sea.

We sit down and many, many dishes arrive. Grilled fish. Salads. Mussels. Soup. Kim chi. Kim bop. And the soju. I tell him I don’t want to drink much soju – it is too strong for me. We start eating the “side dishes.” We have polite dinner conversation. About his business. My school. His family. I ask him if he is married. He laughs. I don’t see what is so funny about that question. He’s asked me, I’ve answered, why can’t I ask him. “I think you ask me that because I am so strong and look so young.” No, I ask you that because I know you have children (in university, nonetheless) and I assumed your wife would be joining us tonight. He said, “No, maybe another time my wife will join us, but tonight, it is just us.” I tell him this is odd, that in America normally husband and wife eat dinner together. He laughs and says, “No, you are lying. I know better.”

The main course arrives. So much raw fish. He tells me that in the morning I will not be able to recognize my skin. What are you talking about? Recognize? No, realize. I will not be able to realize how soft my skin will be after eating raw fish. Whatever.

We start to eat, by now we have finished almost one bottle of soju. He starts to talk about how much soju costs in other countries. In Korea, it is not a burden for the common man to purchase. But in America, maybe it is $20 a bottle. Noooooo. Yes. That is not right. You, you think like a teacher, 1 + 1 equals 2. But a businessman, he knows customs, taxes, profits, and yes, it is $20. Okay – that was extremely patronizing.

So, I think you must be lonely. You are in a foreign country. What do you do when you are lonely?

Well, sometimes I miss my friends and family, but I email them a lot, and I talk to my parents once a week, so it’s okay. Plus, I’ve made friends here in Korea. So I hang out with them.

No, I think you get lonely. Like a woman gets lonely. You were married. And now divorced. What do you do when you want sexual intercourse?

(I almost spit my soju at him. I’ve never been asked so bluntly before.) Wellllllll. I just get over it.

No. I think you need a partner. A sexual partner.

(Oh, God. Is this where this is going?) No, I don’t need sexual partner.

Well, I take many business trips. And I get lonely. I want a sexual partner. But I don’t want to go to the red light street. So, maybe when I go on a business trip… What do you do when you get lonely?

I don’t think it is the same. I don’t want to have sexual intercourse with just anyone. I want it to be someone I care about. And I have not found anyone lately that I care about. I would rather be alone. (and I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you)

But you have to have desires. I will be your partner.

I don’t think so.

But that means maybe yes?

No, that means I don’t ever think that will happen. Ever.

But we do not know what will happen in the future. Insha’allah, right?

I know you will not be my sexual partner. Does your wife know you have other partners?

I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Her job is a housewife. She takes care of my children and my house.

Would you care if she had other partners?

Not if it wasn’t in our home. She can do what she wants. I can do what I want. This is the Korean way.

No, I don’t think so.

Okay, it is the western way. Isn’t that why you divorced your husband?

No. It is not the western way either. And, my husband and I were together 6 years. During that time I did not have relations with anyone else and I truly believe he did not either. That is not the western way. (and why am I still having this conversation?)

Many English teachers, especially women, are here in Daegu.

Okay.

There are stories in the paper everyday. Foreign hag-wan teachers. Using hashish to combat loneliness.

I don’t do drugs either.

No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying many teachers use drugs. You are from San Francisco, right?

Yes.

Many people in San Francisco, they are lesbian, right?

I’m not a lesbian, either.

I do not understand. You must be lonely. What do you do?

I don’t think it is the same between men and women. I don’t have to have sex with someone.

Well, when you were in Kuwait…

Yes.

Kuwaiti men, they love to f*ck American women.

I met my husband in Kuwait. He was American. I never dated any Arabic men.

Arabic women, they are beautiful. Like a painting. The most beautiful women in the world.

Yes, they are beautiful.

But American women, except for you, of course, they are tough. Not so beautiful.

(raised eyebrows)

I said except for you. But the most unattractive women, Scandinavian women.

Really?

Yes. They are so tall. And so big. Big eyes. Lots of freckles. Light hair. And hair all over their body. Everywhere.

Really? I’ve never been there.

I was in a cafe run by Tabu. You know Tabu?

No.

No? Yes, you do. The movie maker.

No.

Porn movies.

I’ve never seen a porn movie.

What? Are you from North Korea?

No. I’m from America. And I’ve never seen a porn movie.

Let’s go. Right now. I will show you one.

No.

Okay, anyway, I was in this cafe. And the waitresses were completely naked. Except for high heels and their trays.

Okay.

But I couldn’t look at them, they were so unattractive. Here, have some more fish.

I can’t. (rubbing my tummy) I’m full.

No, your chest is full. I did not realize it when we were hiking, but now, tonight, oh my god. I think only your chest is full, not your tummy.

I’m ready to go.

Wait. Isn’t this well, special? I mean, we were destined to meet. There are never any women on the trails at Apsan. And there you were. And we were there at the same time. And I spoke to you. And we hiked together. And we spoke Arabic. This is meant to be. We are meant to be sexual partners.

No, we’re not.

I think, maybe, in a past life you were a cow. And I was a mosquito. And we were together then as well. Now we have the chance to be closer in this life.

(First of all, calling me a cow, even in a past life, is not going to endear me to you.) No. I don’t think so.

But that means maybe? Mumkin (Arabic for maybe).

Mish mumkin (Arabic for no possible way).

I caught a cab home. Am I really so naive?

I Now Know What A Bad Standup Comic Feels Like…

In one of my writing classes, I had to teach riddles. Riddles only work if you understand the play on words. Who was the genius who included this in our ESL curriculum?

“How is a fiction book like a tall building?” Answer from the class: they both contain a lot of information. “Okay… any other guesses?” Books can be found in buildings. A picture of a building is in a book, maybe. “Yes…. Okay, the answer is – They both contain many stories!” I’m met with blank stares. So I go to the whiteboard. “See, a book, it contains stories, tales about things that happen, right? And a building that is tall, has many floors, which are also called stories. See? Isn’t that funny?” The four pre-teenage girls look at me and nod, appeasing me, yes, teacher, it’s funny. Okay, next example.

“What is the difference between a jeweler and a prison guard?” Teacher, what is a jeweler? Ohhhhhh. So I explain a jeweler’s job, trying to make sure I include the words “watch” and “sale” (key to the answer). Teacher, what is prison? Hmmmmm… How can I salvage this lesson? I explain the answer, “One sells watches, the other watches cells.” And I draw my pictures on the whiteboard. Again, blank stares.

The next question. “How is candy like a government building?” Okay, let’s list all the types of candy we know: chocolate, chewing gum, marshmallows, gummy worms, hard candy, sour balls, licorice, the list goes on. They have listed every possible candy option except for “mints.” “Okay, what is that type of candy that you put in your mouth and it’s really refreshing and cool…” Blank stares. I know they have mints here. So I offer, “Mints? Yes?” Smiles, oh, yes, yes, yes. Okay. We’re getting somewhere. “Okay, and what’s the name of the government building that makes money?” Don’t know. “What about in Korean? Do you know the name in Korean?” No. “But you do have a building that makes money, right?” Maybe. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. “Well, in English this building is called a mint. Get it? Mint/mint?” Riiiiiiiiight.

I’m of the firm belief that learning needs to be relevant to the students. And this so is not. Okay, I’ll give it one more try.

“What is the difference between a thief and a seat belt?” A seat belt is safe and a thief is not safe? “Good guess, you’re on the right track, keep on. What’s it called when a thief robs you?” Bad. Very bad. “Yes, it’s bad. What is another word for the action of the thief robbing you?” Hold you down. “Almost. Hold up. So a thief holds you up and a seat belt…” Holds you down! Heeheeeheheheeeeheheeee. All four girls erupted in laughter.

I am so glad this lesson is over.