Drive By Bread Drop Off

I’m pretty happy with my work conditions here. The students seem fairly well adjusted, happy, and serious. No more than 5 pupils per class. And now I’m only working from 4:00 until 9:30 pm on Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, and 8:00 pm until 10:30 pm on Sunday. So I’ve got the majority of my days free. Not a bad schedule. My only complaint, which is not really a complaint, just a tinge of sadness, is that since I don’t teach on Mondays and Thursdays I don’t see some of my students from last session. Namely, George. The class he was in was so wonderful. George, Sandy, and Ellen. They all wanted to be called by their “American” names. They were all around great kids. It was the highlight of my day to teach them.

As I was walking home, through the narrow, winding streets with no names, I heard a voice call out, “Lori!” I was quite startled. Almost no one here calls me by my name. If I’m teaching, the students call me “teacher.” If I’m walking down the street I’m called “miguk” (American) or “wegug saram” (foreigner). I turned around, but didn’t see anyone. A large black car pulled up beside me. The back window rolled down. I was having flashes of being abducted and I haven’t learned the word for “help!” yet. (Note to self . . .) From the window comes a shopping bag. Should I run? What’s going on here? If the person had not called my name I would have been sure I was being confused for someone else (a drug dealer, perhaps?). The bag is shaken at me animatedly. “Take it, teacher, take it.” Okay, calm down, first of all, whoever is holding the bag is speaking to me in English. Secondly, he’s calling me teacher. It must be a student. But which one? Just then the front window rolled down. I saw the cheeky smile of Pil Sang. “Hello, Rori Teacher.” I took the bag. George, what is this? “Bread, teacher. American bread. The kind you like.” I laughed and thanked him and they drove off. I don’t know how they knew I would be on the street, or if it was a random coincidence. Sometimes I truly wonder if my life is real . . .

Bank, Baby, Bank . . .

I successfully conducted a transaction in Korean today. At the bank. Okay – it didn’t take *that* much vocabulary, but I was feeling pretty pumped when I left. I entered the bank, took a number, sat down (they have benches everywhere here) and waited my turn. These number systems are pretty popular – they are at the bank, the post office, anywhere a line might form. You take a ticket and watch the digital display over each teller/window. When one transaction is done, a new number pops up. But the numbers change so fast. You have to be ready to bolt up to the counter or you miss your turn. It’s quite anxiety producing. But then again, almost everything is anxiety producing here . . .

So I was sitting on the bench, anxiously watching the numbers change, 156, 157, 158, 159 – I was next. My eyes scanned nervously from display to display – which one would change next? I scooted to the edge of the bench, ready to bolt as soon as I saw 160. 160! There it was. I jumped up and scurried the 5 feet to the counter. She already had changed the number to 161. “Ani-o, ani-o, chom . . .” No, no, please . . . She smiled. Okay, good. I didn’t miss my turn. I placed my 5 inch stack of bills (really) on the tray and placed my pink bank book on top of the bills. I love a bank that issues pink bank books. And my ATM card has a picture of the World Cup Stadium on it. How cool is that? But I digress. . . So I place my items on the tray, smile and say, “EunYoungKoojwa-so.” Which roughly translates to “bank account – in.” Not polished. Not eloquent. But, it got the job done. She understood. Took the money, entered the deposit in my bank book, and handed it back to me. “Khamsa Hamnida! AnnongHiKaySeyo!” Thank you and good bye! With that, I spun victoriously and headed out the door.

Ramen . . . Nothing But Ramen

I never realized how good ramen was. Or how many varieties there were. I don’t think I had ever had ramen before coming to Korea. Seriously. A few weeks ago when I was not feeling so great Chanta made me a bowl. That’s some good stuff. So I decided to buy some to make at home. I walked into DongA, looking for the soup section. “Ramen odi?” Where is the ramen? The sales clerk pointed me in the right direction. A whole freaking wall full of so many different varieties of ramen. I was amazed. Hundreds and hundreds of different types of ramen. I spent over an hour trying to read all the packages. Looking at the pictures, trying to figure out the differences between them. I finally just chose 10 packages – all different. My favorite so far has been the blue crab ramen. What will they think of next . . .

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.