We Do It Your Way . . .

While in the Seoul train station on Sunday, I decided to get some breakfast before boarding the train. That in itself is an oxymoron. Breakfast in Korea? Rice, kimchi, pork cutlet, etc. There really isn’t much differentiation between foods served at each meal. I walked into Burger King, dreaming of hash browns, biscuits, orange juice . . . And saw the lunch menu. Okay. Meal number 5. Chicken tenders and french fries. But I could get orange juice. One out of three ain’t bad . . . As I was waiting for my order, I started reading the sign on the counter. Advertising the “Chicken Sandwich Festival” in March. I didn’t realize chicken sandwiches now warrented their own month but I’ll go with it. Anything for a celebration. And here was the caption, “Take a bite of the mouse-watering, tasty Chicken Sandwich, Take a lot of benefits along with it!” I don’t know about you, but the thought of a mouse in my mouth doesn’t make anything water . . . . And I hate to think what kind of benefits I would derive from that . . .

Some Like It Raw . . .

Interesting perspective. In one of my reading classes we were reading a selection on Sonja Henie, the Olympic skater. One of the paragraphs detailed Henie’s work schedule – she worked 12 hour days, worked very hard, etc. And she was fanatical about her diet. Eating raw eggs and raw meat. While discussing the reading, one of the students said, “I think she was very lazy.” Hmmm. Okay. Maybe there is a misunderstanding about a definition of a word. Why do you think that? “She wouldn’t even cook her food. She just ate it. That’s lazy.”

PayDay!

Today was our first payday since arriving here. Payday is a good feeling in any country. Remember how I mentioned that the largest bill here is the equivalent of $7.80? Think about how that translates into 5 weeks’ worth of salary. I was feeling pretty damn rich as they handed me an envelope bursting at the seams with 10,000 won bills. One of the other teachers commented this was the first time he was truly a millionaire. I corrected him, “You are a mill-won-naire.” No one here seems to appreciate my humor.

What a Weekend!

This weekend ranked not only as the best weekend I’ve had in Korea, but one of the best weekends overall. Yes, it was that good. Thursday night we celebrated the last day of the session at a local bar, “Ma-is-ta Sa-ap-un.” Or, in English, Mr. 7. Everyone was in a good mood; we were all looking forward to the long weekend. Pitcher after pitcher of beer arrived at the table, it wasn’t long before the pitchers of beer were replaced with bottles of scotch. Ordering bar food in Korea is an interesting culinary experience. We ordered a plate of french fries (which came with soy sauce and a ketchup-ish blend), chicken parts (yes, parts, they were deep fried, but had a lot of hard stuff in them – maybe bone? maybe grissel?), a plate of corn (right out of the can, luckily they brought us forks; we’d still be there if we were using chopsticks to eat it), and a plate of meat over rice. Around 1:30 am Ted suggested we all head downtown. Chanta and I declined. I was supposed to meet Peter at the bus station at 6 am on Friday to catch the bus to the ski slopes. I figured a few hours of sleep were better than none at all.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep

That’s what I imagine my alarm would have sounded like if I had actually heard it on Friday morning. When I opened my eyes and looked at the clock, it read 7:05. Aghhhhh! I jumped out of bed, threw some ski clothes into a tote bag, brushed my teeth and was out the door. I tried calling Peter, thinking maybe if I overslept, he had, too. Endless ringing. Okay – he’s already at the bus station. Or on the bus. The first bus left at 6:30. There was another at 7:35. Maybe I could make that one. I got to the station at 7:32. Quickly scanned the station lobby. No Peter. Bought my ticket, went outside to find the bus. An older man pointed for me to sit down. Did I miss the 7:35 bus? Aghhhhh. The next bus wasn’t until 9:40, I thought. Which meant I wouldn’t get to MuJu until almost 1. Bummer. Okay, relax. This is reality. It would have been fun to share the 3 hour bus ride with another English speaking person, but get over it. I’ve done plenty of trips by myself. I brought a book, I can look out the window, I can read signs. No worries. Stone benches are very cold when the air temperature is below 40. I was fidgeting, wondering if I should chance going back inside the lobby where it was somewhat warmer. The older man kept motioning for me to stay where I was. Okay. I glanced to the right. Peter? He’s not hard to spot; he’s 6’6″. He saw me and started laughing. “You overslept, too?” Yeah, but I called you as soon as I woke up. He rolled his eyes. “As if I would have heard anything.” I guess their celebratory session lasted even longer than ours had. It turns out there was a bus at 8:20.

The Road to MuJu

We got on the bus and headed to the back where there was more leg room. After a few stops, we were out of the city. Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. About everything. After about an hour, we arrived at another terminal. The bus driver told us to get off. MuJu? We can’t be there yet. He ushered us to another bus. Oh, okay. We continued to wind our way through the countryside, eventually heading up into the mountains. We were both like two children the night before Christmas. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. As the bus got deeper and deeper into mountain country, it made more stops. Not at marked bus stops, but whenever someone was on the side of the road. And no one who got on the bus was under 70. Seriously. And they all had the same reaction when they saw us. Utter disbelief. Peter and I exchnaged curious glances. We were told this was the bus to the ski resort. But no one else looked like they were going skiing. Hmmmm . . . Well, it’s an adventure. The bus stopped in a town. Not really a town. A street with a few buildings on either side of it. The driver got up, came to the back of the bus and started talking to us rapidly in Korean. We must have looked like deer in the headlights. Our eyes widened; we had no idea what he was saying. He pulled our arms. Okay, that’s clear enough. We were to get off the bus. But we weren’t at a ski resort. He took us inside a small convenience store (sort of) and said something to the woman behind the counter. Then he left. She gave us two tickets and pointed outside. Okay – we think this means we’re going to wait for another bus that will take us to the ski resort? After about 20 minutes we decided to hail a cab. Except there was no traffic on the street. We were itching to get on the slopes. We were so close, yet felt so far away. Hmmmm. We saw an empty cab across the street. I ran over there, walked around the cab, then poked my head inside the building/shack it was parked in front of. In my best Korean I shouted, “Hello?!? How are you? Hello??” A small man appeared from round a dividing wall. “MuJu sukiiii resort-a?” Yes. “How much?” He answered. I knew he said the words for three, ten, and thousand. Three thousand? Thirty thousand? Didn’t matter. I smiled and nodded yes then ran across the street to get Peter. The look on the taxi driver’s face when he saw Peter was one of shock. We put Peter’s snowboard in the front seat, Peter and I sat in the back. We got back on the main road, then turned off shortly thereafter. It was about a 15 minute ride up another mountain to the ski resort. He dropped us off at the welcome center. Thirteen thousand won. Worth every cent/won.

Our Angel, Han Youl

We walked into the welcome center, similar to ski lodges in the US. Someone at the front desk called us over. She spoke English, somewhat. She gave us a map of the runs. We asked about accomodations. There was a youth hostel located in the resort. Sold out. Okay – any places? Yes. Condo. Most expensive. Of course it is. Peter and I made a quick decision. Let’s splurge. The cost was justified by the convenience of being right by the slopes and not having to worry about taxis after boarding all day or in the morning. I asked where I could get a bus to Seoul for Saturday. She didn’t understand, so I tried to re-phrase my question. I could sense the presence of someone very, very close to me. I glanced over my shoulder. There was a young man practically breathing down my neck. I moved over a bit, he came right up beside me. There was no one else in line. He said to me in English, “There are two Express buses to Seoul tomorrow. One leaves at 1, the other at 5. It takes 3 hours to get there. You can buy your ticket at Sunchon House.” I thanked him. He asked if I lived in Seoul. No, in Daegu. Him, too. We chatted for a few minutes. I introduced myself. His name was Han Youl. His companion joined him. Her name was Hyo Ju. I was completing the forms for the accomodations. He asked how much I was paying for a room. I told him, he expressed disbelief. “Here. Here is my phone number. Next time you come, please call me. I am a member here and get a 75% discount on accomodation. I will reserve your room for you.” Wow. Thank you, that’s very kind. He asked if we were going to board that day. Yes, after we drop our bags off in our room. “Okay, I will show you the way.” He showed us how to catch the shuttle bus. Then took us to the youth hostel (where they were staying), he got his membership card and brought us tangerines. Then took us to our hotel. And waited while we dropped our things off and layered for hitting the slopes. He asked us how we got to MuJu. When we told him, both he and Hyo Ju laughed. They told us that was the most difficult way possible. That there was an Express Bus straight from Daegu to MuJu. Han Youl whipped out his cell phone and proceeded to make a reservation for Peter to go back to Daegu the next day. Then took us to the lodge. He showed us the price structure for lift tickets and explained he could get a discount with his membership, so he would buy our tickets for us. We gave him the money, he bought our tickets. Peter already had his equipment, but I needed to rent mine. Han Youl took me inside and led me through the process. First step, shoe size. I placed my socked foot into the shoe salesman’s measurer. The girl at the desk kept saying something in Korean. Han Youl bent over and tried to push my foot back farther against the heel part of the measurer. I explained my foot was all the way back. The desk girl exclaimed surprise. Then she looked at me. And let out a scream. I guess she had not realized I was female. She muttered something, then we were on our way to the next stop. Han Youl leaned over and started to say something, I interrupted with, “She was surprised at how big my feet were.” He laughed and said yes. Next stop, boots. Last stop, board. Here we go!

On the Slopes

He explained that because he bought our tickets with his membership card, we were entitled to use the “Members Only” line, which put us at the front each time. Right on! We got on the slopes at about 1:30. He told us that the lifts closed at 4:30, then reopened at 6:30 for night skiing. For three hours solid we hit the slopes. Up and down. Up and down. I had never boarded on man-made snow before; it was much slicker than natural. And many of the slopes were icy. I took quite a few tumbles, but after a couple of runs was feeling pretty confident. We were having so much fun. There were two mountains. We decided to go to the second one. We boarded over then took a combination of two different lifts up to the top. How majestic. Rows and rows and rows of mountains. Slopes full of bare limbed trees covered with snow. Snow flowers, they’re called. So quiet. We started down the run. I love the feeling of boarding. The speed. The icy wind on my cheeks. My hair whipping in the wind. Bending into the curves. The power in my legs. We came to a meeting of runs. Peter and Han Youl were waiting for me, sitting looking out at the mountain range. Han Youl smiled, “Ready? Follow me.” He started down the path to the left. “Wait!” I screamed. “Han Youl! That’s a double black diamond run. I can’t do that. I’ll meet you at the bottom.” “No, no, no. It’s not that hard, come on.” Ohhhhhhh. . . . why am I such a sucker for peer pressure? Okay. Over the edge. I felt like I was plummeting, literally, into the unknown. Straight down. On a solid sheet of ice. I tried to weave back and forth, making a large “s” shape to slow myself down. Each time I leaned into a curve, I slid, down, down, down, straight down the mountain. I couldn’t edge into the ice. My board just slipped farther and farther. Ahhhhhhhhh – I’m going to die! Thank god there was no one else on the slope. By the time I reached the bottom my legs were on fire. The muscles in my calves burned incredibly. And there were Peter and Han Youl, waiting for me, big smiles on their faces. “See, I told you you could do it.”

We caught the chair lift back to the first mountain. This was the first two person chair lift. Peter rode with a stranger; Han Youl and I rode together. He asked how I was feeling. “I feel great. This is so awesome. It feels really good to be boarding again.” He mentioned I had taken some pretty hard falls. “Yeah, but that always happens. It’s okay.” He motioned for me to touch his knee. I did. He had on knee pads. He explained that in Korea all boarders wear special knee and hip pads while boarding. Did I have these? “No – I’ve never seen them before.” He suggested I get some at the pro shop in the lodge. “I think that maybe the ski slopes in Korea are very hard. Maybe much harder than the United States.” I laughed. We took a few more runs, then went into the lodge for some food.

Peter and I were so hungry – we had not eaten all day. There are times when I’m here, living my life, and it just feels like life. I could be anywhere. Then there are times when it hits me so hard that I am living in Korea. This was one of those times. My favorite food after a day on the slopes is a bowl of chowder or chili and a cold beer. It just tastes good. We went into the cafeteria. Han Youl explained that we should choose our entree, tell the cashier, then go through the line and get our food. Here were the choices: Kim Chee soup, One Cow soup, Rice with Octopus, Bulgogi, Pork Cutlet. Oh. Hmmm. Okay. Kim Chee soup for 100, Alex. Not quite chili, but, okay. It’s all part of the adventure.

After eating, we went to catch the shuttle bus. We expected to part ways. Han Youl had been so kind to us all day, showing us around, explaining the system. He asked if we were planning to board at night. Yes, we had planned to. “Why don’t we meet here at 7 and board together?” Wow. Sure. But don’t you need to meet your friends? “Yes, I’ll see them now. Okay – see you at 7.” On the shuttle bus back to our condo, Peter and I tried to figure it out. Why was he being so nice to us? This went so far beyond just helping a stranger. He had spent the entire day with us. We figured he must be about 20 or 21. He had just finished his freshman year at university and was planning to begin mandatory military service next month. Peter asked me if I had ever helped a stranger. Sure, all the time. People ask me for directions, I walk people to their destination, that kind of thing. “But have you ever spent an entire day helping someone?” No, can’t say that I have . . .

Boarding Under the Stars

Back at our condo we peeled off the layers of wet clothes and laid them on the warm floor. We had about an hour before we needed to leave to meet Han Youl. We’ll just lay down for a few minutes . . . This time I did hear the alarm clock. It felt like I had just closed my eyes when I heard the “beep-beep, beep-beep. . .” We got up, layered, and headed out. We were at the designated meeting spot at 7. 7:15, no Han Youl. 7:30, still no sign of him. Well, maybe he decided to hang out with his friends. No worries. Peter and I caught the lift. On the bus ride to MuJu we had talked about how that we would finally blend in when we were on the slopes. That we would be so covered that people wouldn’t be able to tell we weren’t Korean. Not so much. Each time we got on or got off the lift, the lift operators would say all the English phrases they knew, whether appropriate or not. “Good-bye! Hello, my friend! Have a nice day! Thank you very much! Welcome home!” So I guess we still stood out.

When we reached the bottom of the slope, there was Han Youl! He apologized over and over. He had fallen asleep and had just woken up. No worries. After a couple of runs, Hyo Ju joined us also. The four of us would follow each other, the boys attempting jumps, Hyo Ju and I laughing. Some more of their friends joined us for a few runs, then went on to steeper and icier slopes. We stared at the sky, marveling at how black and clear it was. Like a palette of velvet, with just a few twinkling stars glittering here and there. We finished the night with hot chocolate in the lodge. And a visit to the pro shop. I now own Korean snowboarding pads. We decided to meet at the board storage area at 7:50 the next morning. “Goodnight! Goodnight!”

To Dance, or Not To Dance?

Back in the room, Peter took a shower first. While waiting, I started reading the pamphlet about the resort. There was a nightclub! Dancing! Yeah! Peter came out, I went into the shower. Thinking the whole time about shaking my groove thing. I came out of the shower, very excited about the prospect of dancing the night away. I looked over at Peter’s bed. He was sound asleep. “Peter!” Not a movement. A little louder, “Peter! Are you asleep?” Still no response. Hmmmmm . . . should I tackle the night club by myself? Or do the responsible thing and get some sleep before hitting the slopes early tomorrow? Surprisingly, I chose the latter. Sleep is good.

Saturday at MuJu

About 7:30 am our phone rang. I answered, “Yobsay-o . . .” It was Han Youl. How did you sleep? Are you ready to board? Yes? Okay, we’ll meet you soon. Wow. We even get a wake-up call. Peter and I still couldn’t figure out why. Why was he being so nice to total strangers? We met at the board storage area, stashed our bags in lockers, and prepared to hit the slopes. When we went to buy lift tickets, Han Youl discovered he had forgotten his membership card. Which was solely for mine and Peter’s benefit. Both he and Hyo Ju had season passes. “I will go back to the hotel and get it.” No, no, no, no. We’ll buy a regular lift tickets – please don’t go back – let’s go ahead and hit the slopes. “No, today is Saturday and will be very crowded. Wait here.” And he was off. Half hour later he was back. He purchased our tickets and we were on the slopes. And he was right. The non-member line was so incredibly long on Saturday. It was nice to be able to breeze up to the front with the members’ lift tickets.

On the first run, I took a pretty nasty tumble. Hyo Ju stopped to make sure I was alright. I told her yes, that I just needed a minute to brush myself off. I explained I was already bruised from the day before – black, purple, red. She smiled and said, “Like rainbows?” Exactly. For some reason, we both thought that was incredibly funny and couldn’t stop laughing. At the bottom of the run Peter turned to me and said, “I see you took the opportunity to test out your new pads. How are they working for you?” Thanks a lot, smartass.

After a few runs, we decided to stop for breakfast at the top of one of the slopes. The breakfast menu was the same as the dinner menu from the night before. Hmmmmm . . . I opted for bulgogi, marinated beef over rice. With several bowls of side condiments – many kinds of kim chee, spinach, a spicy soup. Peter leaned over and whispered, “Nothing like a light snack before we hit the slopes.” You said it. I was eating with my chopsticks and Han Youl asked if I ate with chopsticks in the US. I told him that sometimes I would use them at Chinese restaurants but in my home I used a fork. He asked how I learned to use them. Was another lecture coming on the proper way to use chopsticks???? I told him my boss at school had taught me. He nodded and said, “You use them very well.” Score! During breakfast we talked about many things, and at one point Hyo Ju mumbled something in Korean, then followed with the Korean phrase, “I’m so stupid.” I’ve heard that phrase many times at school; the students say it to each other all the time. I looked at her and said, “Ani-o. Ani-o. You’re not stupid.” Her eyes grew so wide. How did you know what I was saying? Well, I do understand some Korean. She and Han Youl laughed incredulously.

We did a few more runs then decided to go to the other base. We took the gondola up to the very top of the mountain. Once at the top, we took some pictures with a disposable camera and walked around the paths overlooking the mountains. So beautiful. We headed back to get our boards. I was psyching myself up – this was the hard run. The double black diamond from yesterday. As we picked up our boards, Hyo Ju said something to Han Youl in Korean. I asked her if she wanted to rest a bit longer before heading down. She laughed and said she was going to take the gondola down. “Me, too! Let’s go!” The boys stared at us as we headed back to the gondola. I was so glad not to tackle the black diamonds again. We started to get on the gondola and the operator told us our tickets weren’t good for the gondola, only for the lift. Hyo Ju told her that we were taking the gondola because we couldn’t get down the mountain any other way. And stepped in. Okay. I’m with her. In the gondola, Hyo Ju asked me how long I had been in Korea. “About 6 weeks. I got here in December.” She didn’t believe me. “I thought you had been here for at least a year. How do you know these phrases – crazy? stupid?” Well, I listen to tapes. She smiled, “But language tapes don’t have those phrases on them.” Okay, I also joke around with the students. She laughed.

We reached the bottom where Han Youl and Peter were already waiting. They had flown down the mountain. And were ready to attempt it again. “Come on, Lori. Come with us this time. Come on.” Okay. We took the gondola back up and headed to the top of the slope. As we were strapping our boards on, Peter and Han Youl edged closer to the edge of the mountain. “Hey, guys, what are you doing? The run is this way.” Oh, no, we’re going off the path. This way. “Okay – you’re machida (crazy)! I’ll meet you at the bottom. I’m not prepared to face death again today.” They laughed and disappeared over the edge. The run I took was the longest in Asia (really). Six kilometers. Of twisty, steep turns. Right, left, right, left. By the time I reached the bottom my legs were burning. I was exhausted. We headed back over to the other base. As Han Youl said, “To take a rest.” On the chair lift, Han Youl turned to me and Peter and said, “I am so glad I met you. I don’t have anyone to practice my English with and this has been great.” We laughed, “No, *we* are so glad we met you. You have been so kind to us. Thank you for everything.”

We went to the lodge. Han Youl bought us churros, I got us juice. After a while, the others decided to head back out. Han Youl and I weren’t ready. We both put our heads down on the table and proceeded to take a cat nap. We woke as someone dropped their boots on the table with a loud thump. He needed to check out of his hotel, I told him I was going to try one last run before we met to catch the buses. He was so concerned. By yourself? Yes – I’ll be fine – I laughed. No, no, no, you don’t need to come with me. I’ll meet you in an hour.

We met to go to catch the shuttle bus to the other lodge. My bus left for Seoul at 4:30; their bus left for Daegu at 5:00. Han Youl said he had to do something at the Welcome Center, but he would meet us at the Express Bus stop. We waited for a while. Hyo Ju showed up. It was 4:15. “We need to find your bus.” All I knew was that I was supposed to ride a purple bus. So we went from purple bus to purple bus til we found the right one. She took me on the bus and helped me find my assigned seat. She gave me her phone number and email address. Let’s be sure to keep in touch. “Oh, yes. I would like that,” I said. “Please tell Han Youl I said goodbye – I’m afraid I will not see him before I go.” Just then her cell phone rang. She turned to me, “Han Youl is on his way here now.” And sure enough, a couple of minutes later, he was on the bus. “I am so glad I met you. Will you be okay to get to Seoul? Get off at the first stop. Please call me in Daegu. I would like to keep in touch.” Of course. Thank you so much for everything you have done for us this weekend. You have been our angel. He smiled then left. I waved goodbye as the bus pulled out of the parking lot.

On To Seoul

This is what I remember about the ride to Seoul. Silence. It was so quiet. I think everyone was so exhausted that as soon as the bus got moving everyone fell asleep. Sure enough, I got off at the first stop three hours later. And used the first pay phone I’ve used in maybe, oh, years. But they still work the same. Insert coins, dial the number, talk to the person. I was meeting Collin’s friend, Daniel, who is stationed at a military base near Seoul. We talked and decided to meet at the Starbuck’s near a particular subway station. After I hung up I realized that neither one of us had asked what the other looked like. We had just assumed we would be the only non-Koreans there. Which turned out to be the case.

I walked in and Daniel and his friends said, “There she is . . .” Even though I only had one transfer to get to that subway station and they had two, they still arrived before I did. I guess it’s that whole learning curve thing. Figuring out how to read the maps. Which track do I go to? Which direction do I want to travel? Which stop do I get off at? We had a coffee then Daniel and I decided to get some dinner. We went to a restaurant, maybe it was Japanese? They brought us the menu, of course it was all in Korean. And no pictures. Damn it. I tried to read the menu. And could sound out the words but couldn’t figure out the meaning. The waiter was standing over us, expectantly. Finally Daniel and I looked around the restaurant, then he pointed to the next table and said, “That.” The waiter nodded and was off. When all else fails . . .

Dinner was delicious. A big bowl of spongy, glass noodles and chunks of chicken (still on the bone), potatoes, onions, talbi, and random vegetables. All in a delicious broth. But over dinner we decided we know why Korean people are so skinny. It takes so long to eat with chopsticks that you never get full. You just give up because your hand hurts so much. At least that’s the case with us.

After dinner we headed to the first nightclub. Club Smile. Multitudes of flourescent colors – green tabletops, orange poles, purple splashes on the walls. But not many people. We had a drink (included in the cover charge), then decided to head elsewhere. Daniel knew of another club across town. We caught a taxi and headed over. I was amazed at his navigational skills. Through a park, down an alley – there’s the club! Club Matmata. At the door they offered to take our backpacks and coats. We handed them to the door guy and he stuffed them into a large orange bag (which looked like a garbage bag) and handed us a number. Will we get them back? We walked down the stairs and through the red velvet curtains. The epitome of a nightclub. Lights low, music blaring, a smoky haze clinging to the low ceiling. Bartenders in tight tank tops and low cut jeans. This is more like it. . . .

After what seemed like just a few songs, but in reality was hours, the sun was rising and it was time for me to head to the train station to catch the train back to Daegu. The end to a perfect weekend . . .

Teacher of the Month

Hmmmmm. . . I came in on Thursday (last day of classes for the intensive session – yeah!) and Mr. Chairman Kim said over and over, “Lori-Ga! Bes-ta teach-a!” Several of the students laughed; I really didn’t think anything of it. In between classes Ted, the head teacher, told me Mr. Kim would like to see me in his office. Even at 33, that phrase still inspires fear. What have I done wrong now? Is this about my outburst eariler in the week? I walked in, he motioned for me to sit down. I sat and smiled. “Annong haesay-o. . .” Hello, how are you? He smiled and handed me a card. I motioned with my hands to ask, “What is this?” He motioned with his hands to open it. I did. A very nice gift certificate to the local department store. “Bes-ta teach-a.” Now go. Ted later told me that they have decided to have a teacher of the month each month. No one knows what the criteria is, or who chooses, though. Upon walking into the teacher’s workroom, one teacher made the comment, “Well, it’s not that you’re not a good teacher, but I think you were chosen just to appease you for the misunderstanding earlier in the week.” At which point another teacher said, “Yeah, and just remember, nothing’s for free. Wonder what else you’ll be expected to do for that gift certificate?” Bitter? Party of 6? Right this way, your table is ready . . .

You Should Be In Pictures, Dahling . . .

I came into school and the students were excitedly reading something. I assumed it was a comic book, a magazine with the hot Korean pop stars, something of interest to 10 and 11 year olds. As I walked by, they grabbed me, “Teacher, Teacher! Look!” They were holding a flyer that had been inserted into all the newspapers in Daegu. For Kate School. With all the teachers’ passport pictures and where we attended university. Of all the pictures I’ve provided the school, well, passport pictures just aren’t that flattering. No exception here. But 2.5 million citizens of Daegu now know what I look like. I’ll let you know when the requests for autographs begin. . .

But wait, there’s more. Last Friday evening a couple of the listening teachers were supposed to do a CD of common English phrases for the students to listen to at home. There was a misunderstanding about the time of recording and one of the teachers wasn’t there when the recording commenced. One of the Mr. Kims asked if I would fill in. Oh, yeah! Voiceover work – you know I’m putting that on my resume. It’s the next best thing to being a back up singer in a rock and roll band.

So Chanta and I did the recording. About 1 1/2 hours worth. But it was fun. We were in a real (sort of) studio. We got to wear headphones and speak into microphones. And none of the other teachers could have had as much fun as we did. One of the phrases was, “What are you wearing?” When Chanta started to read it, she bust out laughing, at which point I did too. Mr. Kim looked at us – Why are you laughing? Well, it’s just that, well, normally when you hear that phrase it’s over the phone with someone breathing heavily on the other end. . . I don’t think Mr. Kim thought it was funny.

In my Elementary class (8 year olds) we were discussing a reading on the environment and pollution. I was practicing my Pictionary skills, trying to explain the concept of “leak,” as in, when a ship leaks oil into the ocean and pollutes the water. I had the ship, the oil coming out, the fish dying. We talked for a few more moments, then we were on to factories and how they pollute the environment. I returned to the whiteboard, drawing the factory with smoke billowing from the smokestacks. Hyung Joon (aka Harry), as smooth as can be, says, “Nice, teacher. Very nice. You just put the factory underwater. No wonder the ocean is polluted.” Yet another instance in which I was rendered speechless because of uncontrollable laughter.

Who’s On First?

The first conflict at work. Chanta and I were approached about teaching “weekend” classes for the high school students. We would have two days off during the week instead. No problem. For two weeks we’ve been told the first day of the next session would be Feb. 4 (Monday). The last day of winter session is this Thursday, Jan. 31. Friday is a day off for all teachers. We have been so excited about the long weekend. I made plans to go snowboarding. Yeah!

On Monday after one of our classes, Ted, the head teacher, took Chanta and me aside and said, “I just want to warn you – they expect you to start teaching on Saturday.” ???? But the first day of the session is Monday. “Well, you might want to let Mr. Pyong know you already have plans for the weekend.” I waited until our dinner break then approached Mr. Pyong. I explained I had just heard they wanted us to teach on Saturday. Yes. Of course. “But, in all the negotiations for Chanta and me to teach on the weekends, you have said the first day of the session is Feb. 4.” Yes. “So how can we be expected to teach before the first day of the session?” Because. The first day of the session is Monday. Your first teaching day is Saturday. Your first day starts on Feb. 1 because you are teaching weekends. “But that doesn’t make sense. How can we have a first day before the first day of the session?” Because you teach high schoolers. You should know the first day for you is Feb. 1 because the high schoolers have exams in April and we have to teach 4 weekends in February. That’s common sense.

Can you say communication breakdown? This went back and forth for about 20 minutes. I told him I had plans to be out of town, based on the information we had been given last week. “Yes.” So how can I be out of town and teach on Saturday? “Yes.” This is not the first time that misinformation has been given. It makes it very hard to know what is really happening. “Yes.” My voice was slowly becoming louder and louder. At one point I had to laugh at myself and remind myself that he wasn’t deaf, we just weren’t understanding each other.

After about half an hour and no sign of resolution, I had to leave. Immediately. I got up, got my gym bag, and, well, basically, stormed out of the office. Went to the gym and ran 7 miles. Hard and fast. And felt better afterwards.

When I arrived to teach for evening classes, there was a huge box of Dunkin’ Donuts on my desk. No explanation. For everyone. Dig in. Enjoy. I commented to Chanta, “Have you noticed that whenever there is any sort of conflict, we get food? Are they trying to fatten us up for the kill?”

On Tuesday when I came to the office, Little Kim approached me and asked, “How are you feeling today?” I didn’t quite understand. Chanta asked, “Were you feeling ill?” No. Little Kim said, “Yesterday. I was very afraid when you left the office. I have never seen you without a smile on your face. It was not good.” Oh. Yeah. Yes, I’m feeling better, thank you.

Then there was the meeting with Chanta, me, Mr. Chairman Kim, and Mr. Pyong. As wonderful as Mr. Pyong is, I get the feeling he’s not the best translator. These are the key points from the (20 minute) meeting: Mr. Chairman Kim is the decision maker. You are the face of Kate School, so smile. High schoolers come on the weekend. The first day for high schoolers is always the first day. The first day of the session is Monday. You will get a schedule. Parents will come Saturday, students will come Sunday.

Resolution: our first day teaching the high school session will be Sunday. But the first day of the session is on Monday. So, I can still go snowboarding; I’ll just return a day earlier.

And then they insisted on taking us to lunch. I swear we’re going to walk in one day and there’s going to be a spit over a fire . . .

Dinner with the Nams

Sure enough, Mr. Nam called me on Sunday morning. “Miss Lori? This is Mr. Nam. You will still come to dinner at my house tonight? I think you do not know where I live. I will pick you up at DongA department store at 5:00 pm. My daughter is so excited to meet you.” Okay.

Whevever I go to someone’s house for dinner in the States, I try to take something. A bottle of wine. Flowers. Something. As appreciation for the invitation. But what is proper in Korean culture? I have no idea. Alcohol is tricky. What if they don’t drink? I haven’t seen any florists since I’ve been here. Food? I remembered a small section on the lower floors of DongA that sold plants. A houseplant is fairly neutral. I think. And if not, well, hopefully they would overlook my faux pas and attribute it to foreign ignorance. I bought a lucious green houseplant, some bright blue and yellow ribbon, and a Hello Kitty pencil (for the daughter). I arrived in front of DongA about 5 minutes early. I watched the people stream past. What if I didn’t remember what he looked like? What if he didn’t show? At that moment, he walked up. “Miss Lori? Hi, how are you?” We walked to his car and he again told me how excited his daughter was to meet me. He showed me where his Math Academy was. I showed him where Kate School was. We drove the short distance to his apartment building. Hwa Sung Mansion. Yes, “mansion” spelled out in Korean. He parked the car, then we took the elevator up to the seventh floor. He rang the bell, I heard a scurry of feet. “Uh-poppa!” The door opened. His wife greeted me. A little girl ran into the room, stared at me, then hid behind her mother’s skirt.

He introduced his wife as just that. My wife. I still don’t know her name. The little girl was Yo Hyung. I gave her the pencil. She squealed, then danced around the room. I handed the plant to the wife and thanked them for the invitation. She seemed very surprised, but in a good way. They led me to the couch to sit down. The wife disappeared into the kitchen. The little girl would appear, then disappear. Mr. Nam and I talked. The doorbell rang. The wife answered. “Annong Hayseyo.” A young man entered. He was introduced as the brother of the wife. Mr. Nam said, “I thought you would like to meet my brother-in-law. I will let you two talk.” Oh, why do I feel like this was a set up? We chatted about mountain climbing, about our hobbies, where we’ve traveled. He asked if I had been to Seoul. I told him yes, but mostly just at the airports. He said he had been twice. I asked what for. Once was for a MegaDeath concert. Oh, so you’re into heavy metal music? “Yes, I also play the electric guitar.” Okay. What do you do? “I’m a student at university. This is my junior year? My fourth year?” Oh – your senior year. I counted off the years on my fingers. Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior. What are you studying? “Mechanical Engineering. Did you come here alone?” Why is this the question of the weekend? To Korea? Or to your sister’s house? “No. To Korea. You came alone?” Yes. “Wow. You are not married?” No. “But you are so beautiful. Why not?” I’m just not. Are you? He then almost choked on his drink. “No. In Korea men don’t get married until they are 30 years old.” Oh, and how old are you? “26.” Note – Korean age. “And you, may I ask how old you are?” 33. Again, he almost choked on his drink. “You do not look that old. I thought you were much younger.” Thank you. I think. He then started to say something, faltered over his word choice several times, then started pounding his chest with his fists. I must have looked surprised (I must admit, I’ve never invoked this reaction while having a conversation with someone. . . ) and he explained, “I am so angry. I want to talk and do not know the English words.” Sweetie, I feel your pain.

Then Yo Hyung started bringing out the dishes. Many, many dishes. Kim chi. Salads. Soup. Green tea. Rice. Bulgogi (marinated beef strips). Talki (more beef – the kind with the bone that I normally splatter on my face). Spinach. Fried pumpkin. The table was filled with small dishes. Yo Hyung sat down, pointed at me with her chopsticks, and said, “Eat!” Okay! I began with the soup and the rice – two things which I know how to eat. Evidently they were waiting for me to try the other things before they would eat them. So I dug in. And did fairly well. Dropped a few things on the table, but all in all, a success. Except I couldn’t bring myself to try the talki. The wife asked me to try it. I smiled and said yes, but continued to eat rice. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a knife and fork. Do I use the knife and fork? Or try my luck with the chopsticks? I opted for the less messy knife and fork option. I cut the meat off the bone, then brought it to my mouth with the chopsticks. As with all the dishes, it was delicious.

After dinner, we sat around the table (on the floor) and talked. The wife brought out ginsing tea with honey. Truly a nectar. We continued talking, about Korea, about the United States, about our work, our studies. The wife brought out a platter of fruit – persimmons, apples, tangerines. We continued to eat. The brother in law asked me if I thought Koreans looked angry. Excuse me? They explained that Koreans do not show their expressions very often, so foreigners often think they are angry. But they’re not. Okay. Then he asked if it was hard to live here. Well, sometimes. It’s hard to go to the store and try to find something and not know the name of something. Or to try to talk to someone in Korean and have them stare blankly at you. “But do you ever not understand what is happening? Are there differences between Korean culture and American culture?” Yes, definitely. “When?” I couldn’t think of an example right then, so I told them that. They continued to stare at me. The brother-in-law then said, “Like now?” then started laughing hysterically. Yeah, I guess so.

They wanted to know in detail what I ate for each meal. Where I grocery shopped. What I did after classes. If I had any friends. If I drank alcohol. Was I Catholic. Mr. Nam brought out a bottle of wine, a bordeaux. He said he had bought it thinking it would be very sweet, but it wasn’t. Would I try some? So the brother-in-law and I had some. It wasn’t bad. For a chilled bordeaux.

The entire time, Yo Hyang continued to eat. The child did not put her chopsticks down the entire time I was there. How can a 6 year old eat so much? After the fruit platter was cleared she started working on a bowl of potato chips. She must have learned a new phrase recently, “Are you hungry?” Because she repeated it, over and over. And over. That, and “Oh, my god!” She ran around the apartment. Playing the piano, singing, turning the CD player on and off, painting, completely enjoying herself. Mr. Nam turned to me, “She is the queen of the house.”

We continued to talk. They asked me how many mountains I had climbed. I told them Young-Gi was my first in Korea, but in the United States I had hiked several mountains. They asked if I wanted to go to other mountains in Korea. Oh, yes. There are so many surrounding Daegu, as well as mountains maybe 2 to 3 hours away. Mr. Nam turned to me, “We will climb mountains together. Sunday? Yes?” Well, I may be in Seoul on Sunday, but another day, yes. The brother-in-law explained he had to leave, that he had to get up at 5:30 to go to his English lessons. Whoa. On his winter break from university. There are some seriously driven people here.

The wife was in the kitchen; Yo Hyang came and joined us. She would run in and out of the room, each time she entered the room she would jump into her father’s lap. Until once she came into the room and jumped on mine. Full force. And threw her arms around my neck. “Lori Teacher!” Mr. Nam said, “I think she likes you. We only have one children and she gets lonely. She likes visitors.” Yo Hyang readjusted so she was laying on my lap. I started to sing her a lullaby, rubbing her eyebrows. “Okay, little sleepy-head.” She bolted awake. “Sleepy-head? Sleepy-head?” Oh, a new word. She was up, running around, pointing at Mr. Nam, the wife, and me, “Sleepy-head!” Hee hee hee hee hee.

The wife then took Yo Hyang into her bedroom and tried to get her to bed. Story after story was read. Mr. Nam and I sat in the living room, watching tv. He turned it to the Armed Forces Channel so it would be in English. We watched the news and commented on some of the stories of the day. I was beginning to get very tired. I glanced at the clock. 11:00 pm? How could it be 11:00? He offered to drive me home. The wife and Yo Hyang came out and said goodbye. The wife sent a large container of very spicy kimchi home with me. Mmmmm. . . . breakfast. “Please come back to visit us again.” I would love to. I’ve had a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for dinner. Everything was delicious. Thank you, thank you.

Back in the Pink Palace, I marveled at how things happen. I think I may have met a friend . . .

Winter Wonderland

This morning I awoke to snow. Falling steadily from the sky. Not just flakes, clumps of snow. Covering everything in white. The rooftops, the sidewalks, the trees. I squealed as I jumped out of bed. Snow always invokes feelings of playfulness. What could I do? At that moment Chanta called. “Let’s go grab something to eat then walk in the snow.” Yeah!

By the time I got downstairs (layers – very key – long underwear, wool sweater, ski jacket, jeans, scarf, gloves) Chanta was tired of waiting, so she had made pancakes. Ummmmmmm. . . . pancakes with syrup. Tasting amazingly like pancakes from home. Only difference, eaten with chopsticks.

We met Tom and started walking. Everyone else who is out is bundled up, shielding themselves with umbrellas from the manna from heaven. Not us. We skipped arm and arm, relishing the playfulness, our heads back, tongues out, trying to capture some of the magic. We wound through the narrow streets. Over the playground. Across the major street. Up the hill. To the park. Then we started the ascent. Of Young-Gi mountain. The path was covered with snow, but we could see the footprints of the few who had gone before us. The first part of the trail was just that, a trail, a path. Not too steep. We quickly entered the forest, though. Hundreds and hundreds of trees. Bare branches looking like gnarled witches’ fingers rising out of the ground. With several inches of soft snow weighing them down.

We stopped several times to take pictures. At one point Chanta turned to me and said, “You look just like a modern day Snow White.” I must have given her a quizzical look because she continued, “Your skin is as white as the snow, your hair as dark as night, your lips as red as blood, and your cheeks as rosy as can be.” Add the North Face ski jacket and Banana Republic jeans – where’s my prince charming?

After about half an hour, as the path grew steeper and rockier, Chanta (in her platform boots) and Tom were ready to return back to town. I bade them farewell; I was determined to reach the top of the mountain. After each sharp ascent, there was a plateau. At one there was an abandoned badminton court, at another benches, at another a playground. I could just imagine the activity and sounds of laughter that must fill the park during warm weather.

I met very few people on the path. I was alone in my thoughts, the silence of the falling snow surrounding me. The path grew steeper and steeper. A couple of times my footing slipped, but I always managed to catch myself before busting full out. At one point I was on a flat ridge area. I imagined that under normal situations I would be able to see the entire city, but looking around today all I could see was whiteness. Clouds enveloped everything. I suddenly heard a noise behind me. I spun around. There was another hiker approaching. I smiled, then turned around and continued. As he passed, he said, “Pleased to meet you.” Then continued on at a much quicker pace.

A few moments I rounded a curve in the path. The hiker who had passed me was sitting on a rock adjusting his ice clamps on his shoes. He asked, “Have you climbed the mountain before?” No. “This is your first time?” Yes. “Are you alone?” Hmmmmm . . . Yes. Brief thoughts of Chanta’s warning before we separated passed through my mind, “Be careful, Lori. The path isn’t that well marked. Be sure you come back down well before it gets dark.” The man continued to talk. “You don’t have ice clamps?” No. “Be very careful.” Okay. “Are you American?” Yes. “Alone?” Yes. “The high point is very near to here.” Oh, good. Then I continued on my way. He passed me shortly thereafter. And we really were almost at the summit. As I was climbing to the summit, I slipped a couple of times. He waited for me, offering to help. No, thanks, I’m okay. We reached the top. What a feeling of success. Someone had built a couple of snowmen holding arms. I walked around, breathing in the icy air. The stranger came over to me, continuing to make small talk. “On a clear day, over there, is such and such mountain. And there, that is the city. And there . . .” All of this was mute today, because all we could see was whiteness. We started down the path. I was going extra slow. Slip, slip, slip. Oh, this was going to be a challenge. He turned around and said, “Here. I only need one of my ice clamps. You take one. It will be better.” No, really, I’m okay. “No, you will need this to get down safely. Really, it’s okay. Here. I will put it on for you.” He put the ice clamp on my hiking boot. What a difference. But this meant I had to keep up with his pace the whole way down.

We chatted. His name was Nam, Sang-Gun. Mr. Nam. He owns a Math Academy. The Math equivalent of the type of English school I’m teaching at. He has a wife and a 8/6 (Korean age/American age) old daughter. His family takes English lessons together. Where was I from? How long had I been in Korea? Where did I work? Did I like to hike? Oh, here, let’s take a short cut. We cut straight into the woods. If there was a path there, it was invisible to me. I quickly assessed the situation. In the woods, no one around, getting dark quickly. But, he had given me his ice clamps, so if he had wanted to harm me, wouldn’t he have just pushed me off the side of one of the slippery ridges? And I was a good 30 pounds heavier than him. So I continued to follow. And after about 20 minutes, we reached the edge of the woods. There was a sign there. He asked if I could read it. I sounded out the words in broken Korean. Sssss . . . aa. . . n. San. Pppppp . . . u. . .l. San Pul. Ch. . . ch . . . oooo. . . .ssssss. . .im. San pul choshim. He looked amazed. “You can read Korean!” Well, sort of, but I don’t know what I just said. “San – Mountain. Pul – Fire. Choshim – Be careful.” Be careful about starting forest fires on the mountain.

We walked to his car. He offered to give me a ride back downtown. Okay. As we got into his car, he asked me if we could exchange phone numbers. Sure. We drove the few minutes to downtown. As he prepared to drop me off, he asked me if I had any appointments for tomorrow. No. “Please have dinner with my family.” Okay. “I will call you tomorrow. Yes?” Sure. Sounds good. As I got out of the car, I marveled at how things happen. I had contined on the walk solo so that I could seek solace in the beauty of the snow, and ended up gaining an invitation to dinner for the next evening.