Half the Battle

A scene from tonight's taekgyeon class. We have just finished our warm-up.

관장님: Okay, um... now get on the floor.
[My two fellow trainees and I do as we are told.]
관장님: Now do eopdeuryeo palkuphyeo pyeogi¹.
Me: ...?!?!?! What is that?
관장님 (in English): Do push-up!
Me: Oh, okay. How many?
관장님: One hundred.
Me: One hundred?!
Other guy: What?!
관장님: What's the problem? Be grateful it isn't two hundred.
[Seventy push-ups in, I notice that my fellow trainees have stopped.]
[Thirty push-ups later, I collapse to the floor.]
Me: Aigo²... So, uh, how many did you do?
Other guy: Oh, I just did fifty.
Me: Fifty? Come on! Well... at least pani sijak... ida³.
Other guy: What?
Me: Um... pani sijakida?
관장님: Pani... Oh! You mean sijaki panida⁴.
Me: Ah, that's right. Sijaki panida. Haha, I'm so stupid.

- - -

For those for whom this made very little sense, an explanation: I meant to encourage my fellow trainee with a proverb that I had recently learned in Korean class. The proverb is "시작이 반이다," which is basically equivalent to, "Starting is half the battle" (or the clever rhyming version I found online: "Well begun is half done"). He'd done fifty push-ups, and he was halfway through!

Unfortunately, I mixed up the two nouns in the expression and ended up telling him something more along the lines of, "Half is just the beginning." Even if it did make any sense, it probably wouldn't have been very encouraging at all! You've already done fifty eopdeuryeo palkphyeo blah blah whatever, but that's just the start of it... *cue evil laugh*

When it comes to using the new Korean words and expressions I've been learning in class, I inevitably make foolish mistakes. In the best case scenario, I bring a conversation with a Korean friend to an awkward halt because I sound like a stilted textbook example. In the worst case scenario, my friend decides to switch to English because they literally can't make sense of what I'm trying to say.

But in embarrassing times such as these, I remember another proverb, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Or the Korean version: 범의 굴에 들어가야 범을 잡는다⁵. You need to enter the tiger's den if you want to catch it. In my case, the tiger is fluency in a foreign language and the cave is an endless abyss of silly and awkward misunderstandings.

- - -

¹ '엎드려 팔굽혀 펴기' is a ridiculously long word for 'push-up'. I mean, seriously?!
² '아이고' is a common Korean expression of pain, discomfort, or dismay.
³ '반이 시작이다' does not mean anything in Korean.
⁴ '시작이 반이다' is a common Korean proverb.

⁵ In Chinese (for the heck of it): 不入虎穴，焉得虎子.

Jindallae (Azaleas)

Last Wednesday, all the teachers at my school hiked a local mountain, Cheonjusan (천주산), which is famous for its azaleas. Every April, one side of the mountain becomes carpeted with delicate purple flowers, called jindallae (진달래). A small festival draws locals and some tourists to the mountain every spring, and since I missed it last year, I was eager to join this hike.

The school outing was meant to be a sort of picnic (소풍) near the peak, but since I got there a bit late, and my hiking buddy, the super-fit earth science teacher, was determined to make it all the way to the top, I missed the picnic part. (It was soju and Korean-style sashimi, neither of which I care for in the least, so no great loss there, anyway.)

But we did reach the peak and were rewarded with a hazy view of the city (much like my previous trip to this same mountain). Snap one photo for evidence, then head straight back down... with a few pauses to get more photos of the beautiful flowers... I really regretted not bringing my camera with me on the hike, but I had headed off right after my afternoon classes, so I wasn't even in "proper" hiking gear (운동의류). All of the other teachers had come prepared; every Korean has a spare sweatsuit and neon-colored running shoes stashed away somewhere handy, it seems.

After the hike, we all went out for dinner -- fortunately the fish and liquor was just the pre-game -- at a duck restaurant. The soup was spicy but it wasn't just my burning tongue that kept me quiet. Although it was nice to be in the company of my colleagues, I find myself talking with them rather less these days. I feel that mealtimes are now just a tinge awkward. After two years, I'm no longer a novelty at school, and only a few dedicated non-English teachers are still willing to strike up conversation with me (though they are consistent and friendly in their efforts to improve their English). The others I just smile at while they speak in Korean, or play volleyball with weekly while they speak in Konglish. It's small stuff, but I've got to cherish it because my time with them now has a clear -- and fast-approaching -- ending date.

Such a gorgeous view, and such a pity I only had my phone on my to capture it!

Soccer

Before I came to Korea, I disliked playing soccer; I was no good, and games felt like running laps on muddy grass while everyone else took care of the fancy goal-scoring business. After two years in Korea, I can honestly say that I now actively hate playing soccer. Of course, "hate" is a very strong word which I don't use lightly, so before all my students gasp in horror at my admission sans context, let me explain.

Specifically, I hate the weekly games of indoor soccer that we play at my taekgyeon gym. I have been training in taekgyeon for a little over one year now, and I go five times a week. My goal is to obtain my black belt before I leave Korea, and my only chance to pass the test is in June. So, time is precious, and I want to spend every minute bettering my forms and roundhouse kicks. Instead, however, we section off one day each week, usually Friday, for casual games of indoor soccer with a small purple rubber ball and cushions stood up on end as goalposts. Our gym is small, only about twenty by forty feet, so with four to six grown men running around in this space trying to score goals on each other, the possibility of injury is high.

Yes, they're supposed to be casual games, and they always start out that way, but we're a competitive bunch. After half an hour, things can get nasty. We get tired, lose our balance, kick each other accidentally, then kick each other not-so-accidentally... A stubbed toe here, a mat burn there; the outside of my right foot is constantly sore because of soccer. My newest pair of glasses is sitting on my desk bent completely out of shape because of soccer. I have allowed outbursts of anger, pain, and every negative emotion in my arsenal because of soccer.

And tonight I was finally called out on it. Thank goodness, but also: aaargh.

I've asked my trainers several times why we play soccer when, every week, someone is injured. 관장님 (gwanjangnim, my gym director) replies that it's for building up endurance and stamina, which are required in taekgyeon matches but aren't easy to develop without holding constant scrimmages. So, I have silently endured injuring my feet in a different way every week for an entire year, but it's finally come to a point where I can't hide my frustration and anger.

관장님 and 사범님 know that I don't like playing soccer. I've complained to them several times about how I always get hurt -- 맨발로 축구를 하면 다치는 편이에요 -- but they insist on playing every week. Two weeks ago, I stubbed my toe pretty badly and yelled, "I quit!" before storming out of the gym. When I returned from my short tantrum, I played like a zombie and my team lost. Last Thursday, we played again, even though I was hoping they'd wait until Friday since I'd be out of town then and I could miss soccer with a legitimate excuse. That was not to be; I strained the outside of my right foot, which throbbed the entire weekend.

And today was the final straw -- in more ways than one. It's Monday. We never play soccer on Monday. But 관장님 cheerfully announced that today would be our very last day of soccer for a while. When I smiled and asked why, he said that we were getting a new trainee tomorrow, a woman. Since women can't really keep up with soccer the way we play, he explained, we were only going to play whenever this new trainee didn't come to the gym. Ignoring that bit of sexism, I silently prayed that our new member would come every single day.

But then we had to play soccer again. Our last game. And it started off fine -- my team quickly found itself losing 8-0, but we made up the difference eventually and held off 관장님 and the kind-of-violent ahjussi for a while. And then I just started screwing up. I kicked a sharp corner. I fell and got a mat burn on my foot. I accidentally scored on my own goal a few times. I began to get frustrated again and felt really fed up with this whole thing, even crying out, "아 축구를 싫어해요!" (Ah, I hate soccer!) once. And my demeanor changed, as it usually does near the end of the hour: I went completely silent and became more aggressive.

The good thing is that my heightened focus helped me score four or five goals in the span of ten minutes, and I brought our team to a tie. The bad thing is that I was obviously unhappy and not being a good sport. I kicked an opposing player and halfheartedly apologized. I made absolutely no eye contact, and my face probably looked like I was ready to bite someone's head off. My team lost the game.

I immediately sat down and began stretching; no high-fives, no bows, just me being letting my bitter aura fester. The thoughts continually running through my mind: "My feet hurt. I don't come to taekgyeon for this. My feet hurt."

관장님 came up to me after I had changed and gave me some straight talk. "When we play soccer," he said, "everyone gets hurt. And in taekgyeon there are some things that people like and some things that people don't like. But the rest of us know how to 참다." -- I didn't know what 참다 meant, but I assumed it meant to hide one's feelings. I was about to brush this off, but 관장님 clearly had his serious face on, so I got out my phone and looked up the word he'd used. 참다 means "to tolerate".

He went on: "Here in this gym, we understand that you don't really like soccer. But we like soccer. You need to control your feelings, otherwise other people will misunderstand you. Again, we understand you, but others might not."

I was speechless. I wanted to reply, to argue back. "But I'm in effing pain!" Obviously, I didn't say that. I wanted to explain the frustration I felt, but I realized that I didn't have the language skill to do so. And then it occured to me that I actually didn't completely understand why I felt the way I did -- even if 관장님 could understand English, I wouldn't have been able to articulate myself well enough for him to comprehend.

So I said nothing but, "I'm sorry." I was forced to admit that 관장님 was completely right. I was being a dick, and I knew it. In essence, he told me off for spoiling everyone's fun and being immature about my own inconveniences. Want to know how not to piss off your friends? Don't yuck their yum: don't be openly antagonistic toward the things you know that they enjoy. And want to know how to build character and grow despite a difficult situation? 참다. Tolerate the things that hurt you and build up a thick skin. The pain is temporary, but the extremely negative impression I've been leaving on my fellow trainees is going to last quite some time.

Yeah. I literally hung my head in shame after 관장님 talked to me. I apologized and couldn't think of anything else to say. Language barrier and acute embarrassment united to rid me of all pretension, so I tried simply to look as worn-out as possible. Everyone knows I've been busy and stressed lately... but deep down, I knew I needed to learn that lesson.

Well done, Andrew: you've done a horrendous job of representing America, as well as Christianity. Now, although I want to repair my image, I still really hate soccer! In the future, if our new trainee doesn't show up on a Friday and I walk in to find the goal posts set up, it'll take all I've got not to apologize and walk right back out. I don't want to risk blowing up again for the possibility of actually playing a decent, friendly game. But how can I prove to my teacher that I've learned and matured if I don't give myself another chance?

Hungry Socks

배고픈 양말 하고 학교 슬리퍼

In a hurry from the gym to the cafeteria for dinner this evening, I hastily pulled on my socks and put on my ever-so-stylish slippers -- a common footwear choice at Korean schools, among students and teachers alike.

Over dinner, I discussed possible April Fool's Day / 만우절 pranks with my students. My well-received suggestion was for them to try to speak only in English during their Korean class. (My prank of choice is to begin classes in French.)

I didn't notice anything odd about my socks until after dinner, as I was leaving the cafeteria.

A fellow teacher came up behind me and said, in his best English, "Andrew, stop. Your sock is... eating your pants."

Laughing, I rescued my pantleg from my hungry socks and continued chatting with my students. The first-year I was talking do was eager to tell me how proud he was that he bought a purple-and-yellow plaid shirt against his mother's objections, and I said that it was a fine purchase.

To Remove a Fatal Complex

All I remember is that I had an unnaturally vivid dream whose contents now escape me and that I woke up from this dream thinking that, as my alarm hadn't yet sounded, I probably had a good ten more minutes to sleep. So I went back to sleep.

And then my phone rang. It was my co-teacher. It was 8:43. I had a first period class at 8:50. I swore.

Not really understanding how I had managed to sleep through both of my alarms, I jumped out of bed, threw on the first clothes I found in the closet, considered asking my co-teacher to cover for me, then just bit the bullet and ran out the door. Fortunately, I live about a five minutes' walk away from school. When I'm running, make that two minutes. I got to my office at 8:49am this morning and went straight to class, disheveled and slightly out of breath. My hope is that my students were too sleepy to notice...

That's the second time something like this has happened, and I really hope it's the last.

- - -

Anyway, I wanted to talk about how wonderful my students are. Chatting with them during mealtimes always makes my day. I make it a point to eat dinner with my students at least twice a week, and some of them have taken note of this apparently odd behavior. Typical foreign English teachers don't eat with the students, I've been told. But I believe that bonding over meals is one of the best way to build up a relationship, so I don't mind the stares or awkward silences.

I usually try to time it so that I arrive at the cafeteria at the same time as the third-year students, since I've known them the longest and enjoy talking with them. But sometimes I'll just pick a table at random and walk up with a cheerful, "Hi! May I sit with you?" I don't really wait for an answer, though. The poor students have no choice but to stop gossiping in Korean and start answering my questions in English. "How was your weekend?" "Can you explain what's happening on the cafeteria TV right now?" "What exactly are we eating, anyway?" Although I make it sound like they're the victims of my heinous schemes, actually, I believe it's a positive influence. First-year students in particular are always impressed, first with me for being so bold as to sit with them, and then with themselves when they realize that, yes, they are capable of holding a conversation with a native English speaker and it's not as painful as they'd imagined!

And I love it when students ask me questions, too: simple ones such as what my favorite Korean food is or if I enjoy K-pop, or more complex questions like why I have a Korean name on Facebook (which led to a great conversation about the meanings of names). Today, a student was eagerly telling me about a great movie he'd watched called Final Fantasy, about a group of teenagers on a plane who learn that they are going to crash... I finally realized that he was talking about Final Destination, and we had a good laugh.

I was taken aback and actually touched one evening, when two of my second-years actually left their table to join me and some shy underclassmen girls. They were simply eager to talk to me about my class: JH wanted to study more Greek and Latin roots, and WJ thanked me for giving them the opportunity to write in class journals, but wanted more time to do it. I was absolutely thrilled. The underclassmen were absolutely bewildered.

Later, the conversation turned to a favorite topic of high school girls: beauty. It started when WJ remarked that I looked better without glasses. (I was wearing contact lenses that day.) I told her I'd considered getting corrective eye surgery in Korea, and from there we began discussing cosmetic surgery. WJ said that she didn't want to get plastic surgery, but the societal pressure was really intense. Any girl who doesn't want double eyelids is mercilessly asked just why she doesn't want to undergo a harmless, painless, beautifying procedure. JH, on the other hand, was 100% sure that she wanted to get plastic surgery, perhaps as soon as she graduated from high school.

"I look in the mirror every day, and... I can't look at myself," she said jokingly, covering her face in her hands. JY, who had just joined us, jumped right in to what she perceived was a typical roundtable roasting session. "Yes, yes, you're ugly!" she said ro JH, completely deadpan.

I tried to tell JH that she looked just fine the way she was, that all of them were naturally beautiful and didn't need plastic surgery, but JH's mind wasn't going to be changed in an instant. So, I told them a story about how one of my favorite students from my first semester as a teacher (way back in the fall of 2012) wrote a stellar essay on beauty standards. WJ was bright and daring, and she had chosen the prompt: "Should movie stars and people who appear on TV have to get plastic surgery?"

In her essay, WJ wrote that when she was younger, she'd lamented her physical appearance. However, when she realized that her role models were people like Steve Jobs and Oprah Winfrey who became successful without any help from their looks, she changed her mind about the importance of beauty in her life. But here's the clincher: she also wrote, "If somebody does want plastic surgery, then they should get it in order to remove their fatal complex." BOOM. A young feminist Beyonce in the making, I swear.

Well, and then WJ went and got her eyelids doubled, just like most of the other girls in her year when they graduated and went off to college. I didn't leave out that part of the story, and JH and WJ had a laugh at the slight irony. Nevertheless, I don't want this to be the end of us discussing standards of beauty. I'm trying to find room in my curriculum this semester for a lesson on this topic for my second-years. I mean, my students have nicknames like Monkey, Egg, and Rice Grain, because these somehow capture the essence of their achievements and personalities in a friendly, pithy moniker. No, I'm totally kidding; they call her Egg because her face is shaped like one, and she doesn't even mind. I really want to get my students talking about this.

Beauty is not the easiest topic to bring up in a South Korean classroom, especially if you're a foreigner with a wildly different perspective. My friend Julia was interviewed in a piece by This American Life last year, where she shared a lesson she did with her high school girls and compared beauty standards in Korea and the US. For the sake of her students' understanding, she boiled it down to: physical appearance seems surprisingly important in Korea, but you know what? It's not like that everywhere. Also, you are all beautiful.

I enjoyed hearing about her experience and listening to the clips from her class. There was some criticism about her decision to present American beauty standards in similarly black-and-white terms, but I admire Julia's intent to approach the topic objectively and with enthusiasm. I'm going to take a look at the lesson I did last year and see what I should alter or update for this year.

Oh hey, looks like I drifted way out into tangential waters again, didn't I? The product of a wandering mind on a late night. Time for bed. And I'll have to make sure I don't sleep through my alarm again!

Tortion Yogurt

Happy Pi Day! 3.14. Of course, my students could recite it to the twelfth digit and more. Though they're all quite nerdy, they weren't as excited about Pi Day as they were about White Day, the Korean accompaniment to Valentine's Day. On February 14th, girls give chocolates to boyfriends; then, on March 14th, boys reciprocate and give candy (1). Friends also give candy to friends, and in general everyone in the country is just encouraged to buy unnecessary stuff for the commercial holiday.

Meh... I just really wanted to eat some pie.

Unrelated: a hilarious conversation in mixed Korean and English over dinner today with some teachers at my school.

짜요짜요 and 떡

Biology Teacher holds up a tube of yogurt, similar to Go-Gurt.
Biology Teacher: See this? The brand is called 짜요짜요 (2).
Me: Oh, really? That's Chinese.
Physics Teacher: Chinese? What does it mean in Chinese?
Me: 加油 (3). Um... 가유? 자유? (4)
Biology Teacher: It means 화이팅 (5)!
Me: Yeah, Chinese for 화이팅.
Physics Teacher: Oh! Well in Korean, it means... 짜요. 짜다... Like this: 짜요짜요짜요!
Physics Teacher picks up his tube of yogurt and squeezes it quickly and repeatedly in an unintentionally yet extremely suggestive way. I almost lose it.
Biology Teacher: 짜다. Squeeze.
Biology Teacher squeezes his tube of yogurt, and then wrings it with both hands like you would a wet towl.
Biology Teacher: This is squeeze. So... what is this?
Me: Oh, that's also squeeze.
Physics Teacher: No, that's tortion!

Conclusion: I eat at least one meal a day with the teachers at my school, but I have got to get them to talk more. Laughter will make you live longer.

---

(1) And then on April 14th, Black Day, anyone who got nothing for the previous two holidays eats 짜장면, or black bean sauce noodles, alone. Forever alone.
(2) jjayo-jjayo
(3) jia1you3
(4) I meant to say "주유/add gasoline"
(5) "Fighting", Konglish for "You can do it!"

Ready, Set, Spring!

Spring break at my alma mater begins today, but for me, this TGIF marked the end of my first week of the spring semester. True to form for a Korean school, the class schedules have not yet been finalized, and I've spent a good chunk of time attending opening ceremonies and sitting in on faculty meetings where I understand nothing. One thing that did surprise me, though, was that I ended up spending fewer hours this week actually teaching classes than I did proofreading posters and scripts for my second-years' upcoming presentations at various science competitions.

The semester has just begun, but already the second-years are in high gear as they prepare everything they can for their university applications this fall. A prize from a national or international science fair would be a huge boon. So, eight students are currently working on five different research projects in physics, chemistry, engineering, mathematics, and environmental science, and all of them approached me in the middle of the week with just one request: "Teacher, please check my draft?"

At times I'd simply get an email from a student with an enormous file attached, subject: "Here is our poster" and nothing in the email body. I've really got to teach them how to properly ask favors of people. This will not fly in college.

Smoothing out the grammar and adjusting the layouts of five scripts and five posters takes a heck of a long time, I soon found out, but on the other hand, I really enjoyed doing it. Like I always say, my students are geniuses, and the advanced work they produce never fails to impress me, even if at times I can't make sense of their English. (I always wonder if my failure to understand is a result of my poor grasp of science, their poor grasp of English, or actually an error in the data, or perhaps even all of the above. In fact, I caught a calculation error in a student's report today, and she was slightly embarrassed, as all of my students are aware that I suck at math.)

Today, the other English teachers, the students' advisers, and I attended their mock presentations and coached them on pronunciation and presentation technique. Some of them will go to Seoul this weekend to compete; I wish them the best of luck!

As for the new first-year students... Yay, freshmen! They are so adorable, there's no denying that. They still bow very low to all the teachers, they usually look lost and confused when they walk into my classroom, and they're also quite friendly so far.

My traditional first class always includes a short Q&A session with my new students, and when I tell them they can ask me any question they like, the first one is almost always, "Do you have a girlfriend?" Sigh... Having been in Korea for so long now, the question doesn't faze me anymore, but -- Americans! If you were asked that by your students, wouldn't you think it rather unexpected, or even rude? It's so hard for me to take that question as a natural part of the getting-to-know-you-process; to be honest, I tend to attribute it to an apparent Korean obsession with relationships that I'll never understand.

Here are some other gems from the grill sessions!

• A girl stood up and stuttered for a minute, embarrassed, before choking out, "Do you think that you are handsome?" I told her I thought I was maybe average.
• Her friend later asked, "Do you think that you look like 휘성?" (Google "Wheesung".) I looked him up in class and said, "Um... no. Next!"
• "Where did you get your hairstyle?" When I told him I went to Hongdae, the whole class went, "우~~~! (Oooh!)"
• One shy student asked, "When will you go back to your country?" The entire class shushed him, but I quickly said that it was fine! Any question is okay. I told him (honestly) that I'm not 100% sure yet. But I feel bad; I don't think he asked because he wants to know how soon I'll be gone, but rather because he knows that foreign English teachers rarely stay for long.
• On that note, one of my second-years, who knows that I plan to go to graduate school, asked me this evening when I was planning to return to the United States. I gave him a more complete answer: I've been accepted to a graduate school, but I have not committed yet. And to be frank, I don't want to leave Korea! I don't even want to be talking about it yet, least of all with my students...
• Another second-year student, whom I called MJ last year: "Teacher, can you call me (by my nickname,) YM? All of my friends call me that." I replied with a smile, "Ooh, does that mean I'm your friend?" Her response: "Um..."
• Lastly, I've discovered a teacher's pet! Ha. Or rather, he discovered me: on Wednesday, a first-year student I hadn't taught yet came by in the afternoon, as nervous and awkward as any new student has ever been. He greeted me in well-rehearsed English, informing me that his name was Dave and that he had come by just to introduce himself. I shook his hand; he bowed when he took it. As soon as he left the classroom, he turned to his friends and let out a loud sigh that clearly meant, "Ughhh I finally did it! That was nerve-wracking as hell." Made me smile. The next day, after class, he asked me if I liked Dr. Who and Supernatural, which are his two favorite TV shows. Unfortunately, I don't. But I invited him to tell me all about the shows so that I could find out!

Should've seen this coming

Long story short, my students have found my blog!

It was bound to happen. But I have to admit that it never occurred to me that it would. I definitely underestimated my wonderful, tech-savvy, Internet-addicted students. I guess they're not too busy studying to Google their English teacher, after all.

What started off as surprise when a student or two casually mentioned that they'd found my blog quickly turned into embarrassment when I learned that another student had shared it on his Facebook page, and then mortification when I remembered that I've attempted to write in Korean several times since I first started posting. And now they can all read it and will probably laugh at me the same way I laugh when I read some of the things they write for their speech tests. Awkward! I mean, today, a first-year student stopped me in the hall to tell me that she loved reading my blog, and added, "Your Korean is better than me!" Totally not true! Also not grammatically correct, but I didn't mention that. In fact, there are now quite a few things I should refrain from mentioning from this point forward...

So, here's the plan of action:
1. No more essays in Korean on this blog. I'm relocating my Korean writing practice to lang-8, which I should have done months ago, actually. You write short posts in your target language, and native speakers correct them for you! If you use lang-8 (and I highly recommend that you do), look me up!
2. I'm going to filter what I write in here from now on. While I have nothing to hide from my students or anyone, it's better to be safe than sorry! Also, I think just the knowledge that this certain population may now be counted among my readers will affect what I write regardless of how I feel about it, know what I mean?
3. CSHS STUDENTS: Hi. If you are reading this, you now have a new homework assignment. Practice your English by leaving a comment.

The Story of Sketchy Deals and Also of Skiing at Night and Being Cold

The video above is a short one I took during a two-day skiing trip last week in Muju (무주), Korea. It was my first time skiing in Korea, and it was also my first time skiing at night. I didn't even know people skied at night, actually... it's always struck me as kind of dangerous, not to mention freezing. But at Korean ski resorts, there are lift ticket options for evening, late night, and even past midnight. The later it gets, the cheaper the ticket!

Okay, let me backtrack a bit. When Ammy and I arrived in Cheongju on the 13th, we spent the night at Anna's (a fellow Fulbrighter) grandparents' apartment. We also watched Les Mis! This was my second viewing, and it was every bit as good as the first; I came so close to bawling during some scenes this time...

At Deogyusan Resort at night!

The next morning, we took a cab, a bus, another bus, a third bus (which was actually the same bus as the second, but we had to by an additional ticket), and then another cab to get to the Deogyusan Resort (걱유산 리조트) in Muju. The transportation was exhausting and confusing, and we arrived later than expected at the resort. As a result, we spent the afternoon napping and listening to the soundtrack of Les Mis in our hotel room.

When we woke up, it was time to get our skiing and boarding gear and lift tickets. (스키 is yet another genius Korean loanword, pronounced s-ki, and I think the technical term for the type I rented was "carving skis", or 카빙... Also, snowboarding is 스노보드: s-no-bo-duh.)

The task of buying lift tickets turned out to be much more interesting than I expected it to be, on account of a friendly and incredibly embarrassed Korean man who heard us speaking in English while discussing which ticket to buy and came up to us with a bizarre request. He explained that he had been drinking with his friends the night before and ended up with exactly no cash left in his wallet, so he couldn't buy a bus ticket home. On the other hand, he did have four membership cards for the Deogyusan Resort, which meant that he could score us fast-pass lift tickets at the members' rate, if we could pay him back in cash. So, we would save about $20 from what we'd been preparing to pay, and we'd also have shorter lift waiting times, and he would get in return enough money for his bus.

This was, of course, super sketchy. I mean, red flags were popping up everywhere: Where were this guy's friends? (Already left, he said.) Did he not have any credit cards with which to buy a bus ticket? (Nope.) He wanted the four of us to give him $120 in cash. Was he really allowed to buy lift tickets using his friends' membership cards? (Yup.) Factor in the broken English and our heightened cautiousness, as 외국인s ("waygookins", or foreigners), and I could have easily declined. I mean, I was even ready to just give the guy ten bucks to get his bus ticket, if it meant that he wouldn't abscond with hundreds along with our pride.

But then, I thought about his purported situation, and it reminded me of a very similar one that I had been in a few years ago. I was returning to Swarthmore from visiting my brother and parents in Philly, on the platform waiting for the last outbound train. I then realized that the evening fare was a dollar more than the afternoon fare, and that I didn't have enough to buy a ticket. The actual ticketing office was closed (in which case passengers can buy tickets on the train with cash), so I was stuck waiting for the train but without enough money to get on. Long story short, I approached the nicest-looking old gentleman on the platform, explained my situation, and then asked him if he'd like to buy some of the granola bars that my parents had just gifted me with (snacks for an ever-hungry college student) for a dollar. He agreed, gave me what I needed for fare, and I never lived that down with my family. They still make fun of me for it today. But I always argue that I was being resourceful!

So, that is why I sympathized with this man, who had probably spent the entire morning swallowing his pride for the sake of a bus ticket home. And he was indeed being resourceful. I don't know how he got ahold of his friends' resort membership cards, but they were legit, after all. He secured us our members' lift tickets, got a ton of cash, and was really embarrassed and grateful and finally could go home. And my friends and I, in turn, got a great story out of it.

Finally, we went skiing! Anna, Ammy (photo cred), me in my super-tight, completely-not-weather-proof red jeans, and Katelyn, at Deogyusan Resort.

Ammy, Katelyn, and Anna chose snowboarding, and since it was Katelyn's first time, we spent the first part of the early evening going on a bunny hill and teaching Katelyn the basics of boarding, or: how to survive falling on your butt and knees and face over and over and over again. It quickly got dark, and finally our evening tickets were activated for night-time skiing. The slopes had been freshly groomed, too, so I got to ski on some crisp corduroy. It was quite exhilarating. However, the snow (눈/noon) wasn't of the best quality: it was very icy in some spots, which worried me because I was over a year out of practice, and I was also not wearing waterproof pants. If I fell, my pants would get wet, and then they'd freeze, and then I'd freeze, and that would be no good. Fortunately, I didn't fall! I even tried some of the most difficult slopes that were open (I'm not entirely sure if they were blue or black, since the rating system was both inconsistent within the park and not recognized by fellow skiers I tried to ask...), with success. In the meantime, it was also below freezing the entire time, and despite never taking a spill, I was soon very, very, very cold. The long solo lift rides were the worst, and the wind picked up around 9pm... but I kept telling myself, "I've been colder."

I'm a bit sorry to say that I left the girls on the beginner slopes for most of the night, but they reported that they had a great time. We met up later, in fact, to try one of the more difficult trails together; it was a beginner trail, but quite long and windy. The never-ending-ness was hard for Katelyn, but she toughed it out like a trooper, and in the meantime I got to practice my backwards-skiing.

Ski lifts at night. Kind of eerie!

One perk of skiing alone, though, besides being able to cut in front of groups in the lift lines, is the chance to strike up random conversations with other skiers. I was often on a chair with just one other person, and when that happened, I would always use it was a chance to practice my Korean. "얼마나 자주 스키를 합니까? 한국에서 무슨 스키 리조트가 제일 좋아요?" (Hint: not Muju.) "어디에서 왔습니까?"

Even though my Korean is poor, I got an answer every time and even some lengthy conversations sometimes. One skier I met was only a beginner; he seemed surprised that I've been skiing for such a long time. Another man was interested in what I was doing in Korea, and we talked about differences between ski resorts in the US and in Korea. (I've only been to a few in California in Nevada, to be honest... but Colorado and Vermont are on my bucket list!)

That's about it. The first night, though just a few short hours, was fun in unexpected ways, very chill, and a success all around. I have a few more photos, but they're on my phone, which is temporarily powered off while I'm out of the country. I'll upload them as soon as I get back to Korea. Next up: day 2 of skiing, which was fairly disastrous. Stay tuned!

Running into Students... on a Treadmill?

The other day I had a surprise encounter at the gym... with an entire class of first-year students.

Yes, I use my school's small gym to work out four days a week. It has treadmills, free weights, and a small but sufficient selection of machines to use. Normally, I am the only person who frequents the gym in the afternoons. All the students are in class, and the other teachers have much more work than I do. Occasionally I'll run into the school groundskeeper, and I insa him when I see him. I also insa the school custodial staff, who use the gym's shower room but don't work out. I've gotten used to having the hour mostly to myself and my mixtape of American pop music, and quite enjoy it, actually.

So imagine my shock when I'm doing leg lifts and suddenly see, through the windows, an entire class of students exit the gymnasium in their gym clothes and head toward the weight room. I just sat there and didn't know what to do. I was wearing a tank top and was probably more than a little bit sweaty. Most of my students have never seen me outside of class and in street clothes, much less in the thoroughly unflattering getup I had at this moment.

Yes, it was SUPER AWKWARD at first when they all came in, along with the gym teacher, who is a nice, bro-ish guy. I asked him nervously if my outfit was all right, and he just nodded and motioned for me to go business as usual. But the gym had just been overrun with my students, and how on earth can you go about business as usual when that happens?

Of course my students were staring at me and appreciating the awkwardness as much as I did. I tried to ignore them at first, but inevitably the influx of people using the machines led to waiting time, and then I noticed that most of my students had no idea what they were doing, swinging dumbbells around haphazardly and not adjusting any of the weight machines. And that is when I decided to turn this into an opportunity for cultural engagement: I gave my students workout tips! And I did bicep curls with them and showed them weightlifting techniques and dared them to do pull-ups on the pull-up bar. I resorted to smiling on overdrive whenever I caught a student's eye instead of looking away like I was embarrassed, even though I was.

In the end, it was, in fact, quite fun. I turned up Beyonce and had a great time. I think my students, did, too. I do hope, however, that the image of me pounding on the treadmill in a sweaty tank top doesn't scar them too much! Perhaps I should invest in a workout shirt with sleeves.

찜질방 - Sauna Overnighter (Daegu pt. 4)

A 찜질방 (jjimjilbang) is a public sauna or bathhouse. This type of establishment is very common in Korea and, as far as I've experienced, in China, Taiwan, and Japan, too (think hot springs). What was new to me about Korean saunas, however, was that many of them operate twenty-four hours a day, which means that people can and do spend the night there. Quite literally, you can check into a sauna in the evening and just sleep on a mat in a warm room, then leave the next morning. It's cheaper than a motel!

Last Saturday night, while I was in Daegu, I gave myself the option of sleeping at a youth hostel or at a public sauna. Pros of the hostel: It would be more comfortable (that is to say, I would have a bed), it would be safer, and I knew for sure that there was one in the downtown area where I was at the time. Cons of the hostel: It would be more expensive, and because it was very late, I wasn't sure if I could even check in. Pros of the sauna: It would be a completely new experience, and as long as I could find one, I could check in at any time. Cons of the sauna: I wasn't sure if I could find one.

But as I wrote before, a new friend I met at the swing dance club drove me to the nearest 24-hour sauna, which was located right next to the Daegu train station. It's called 태평 사우나 (Taepyeong Sauna), and it turned out to be a spacious and simple bathhouse. Exactly what I was looking for! I checked in, the lady handed me my sauna "uniform" (ugly shorts and a large, baggy t-shirt that everyone must wear). In the next room, I put my shoes in a small locker in order to obtain a key for a larger locker for the rest of my stuff. Once I changed into my uniform, I was free to walk barefoot around the entire facility and check it out.

There were many rooms along a long hallway. At one end were the lockers and the baths. People were still bathing at midnight, but I was exhausted, so I decided to brush my teeth and go to bed. The actual baths could wait for the morning. As I made my way down to the other end of the hall, I passed a billiards room, a noraebang, a massage room, arcade games, and a weight room, all closed. At the far end of the hall was the giant sleeping room and a convenience store, still open.

A low-quality photo of the sleeping room I surreptitiously took on my phone.

The sleeping room was such a bizarre sight: in an area about the size of a small school gymnasium, dozens of people were silently sprawled out on red mats with pink blankets while a TV in the far corner quietly played some Bollywood film. To the right were what looked like catacombs... they were small compartments lined with colored stones, each one supplied with a mat and a blanket, presumably for sleeping -- if you aren't claustrophobic.

Not wanting to sleep in a quasi-tomb, I located a (surprisingly comfortable) mat in the large room, but all the blankets were already taken. The floors weren't heated, as I'd heard they might be, but it was warm enough in the room that I didn't need a blanket anyway.

I did not sleep very well. At 1am, I woke up due to discomfort and quickly feel back asleep. At 2am, I woke up when tons of people walked in to the large sleeping area and were being rather loud. At 3am, I woke up again because it was a bit cold. At 4am, I woke up because suddenly, everyone around me had begun to snore very loudly. I took a video.

At 5am, I probably woke up again, but I don't remember. And at 6am, other people started to wake up and walk around and make noise, so I decided to just give myself another hour and then call it quits for the night. I got up at 7:30am. It had been a very fitful seven hours...

On the plus side, it was now morning, and I decided to treat myself to the actual sauna part of the sauna. This required me being absolutely naked in a large room with dozens of other absolutely naked men. Awkward much? Yeah, at first. But you know what? I realized that a Korean public sauna, rampant nudity notwithstanding, is a decidedly unsexy place. It was just about taking a really nice bath, nothing else. All the other men were just minding their own business, chillaxing. And that being the case, being completely naked amongst strangers was actually very liberating. I enjoyed the hot tub, the "medicine" tub with some kinds of perfumes and stuff in it (it reminded me of Spirited Away...), and a few lengths in a cold water swimming pool. Then, I finished off with a super shower, scrubbing away every square inch of dead skin that I could reach. I felt raw and quite refreshed afterward, and much more awake than I would have expected after a not-so-restful night. The last thing I did was grab breakfast, and then I left and walked out into a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning.

All of that for 7,000₩! In hindsight, this was a great experience, one of those things I'll probably never do in another country, so why not here and now? Thus, I will probably do another sauna overnighter while in Korea, though now that I've dipped my toe in the water, so to speak, I'd like to try a fancier one. I will probably also visit Busan's insanely large SpaLand. This small, quaint place by the train station was as simple as you can get, and even then I enjoyed it. Three cheers for public baths!

Club Ann.A: Swing Dancing in Korea! (Daegu pt. 3)

At around 8:30pm on Saturday evening in Daegu, I was simultaneously searching for something to do and somewhere to sleep. I couldn't decide which was more the more pressing matter; if I could find hospitable folks at a club, maybe they could help me find a place for the night, but if I had to go looking for a hostel, then I might not end up doing anything fun for the evening. Either way, I was very thankful that I have a smartphone. The Internet told me that there was a swing club and a 찜질방 (jjimjilbang) within walking distance of the downtown area, so I opted to find them, even though the directions given on the multiple websites and blogs I browsed were vague at best.

Jet took me to a salsa club called Babalu before he had to leave for other business. The salsa club is a pretty hot spot and the expats there were quite friendly. I explained that I was trying to find a swing club that I'd heard about, and several people tried to help me figure out where to go. I was grateful for their kindness! The American who was leading a beginner salsa class, Katherine, even gave me an impromptu lesson in bachata while I was vacillating over my plans for the evening. In the end, around 9:30pm, I decided to try my luck at finding the swing club, knowing that if I couldn't find it, then I could always come back to Babalu and hang out there.

Long story short, after twenty minutes, I was lost, and the GPS function on my phone was not working properly, and my phone itself was quickly running out of batteries... I was standing on a dark and silent street corner where the club was supposed to be, almost ready to give up when I took about five steps to the right and suddenly heard music! Swing music! Coming from a building almost hidden from view!

It was Club Ann.A! 드디어, I found it! You have no idea how happy I was when I walked in and saw people dancing -- swing dancing -- in a dimly lit room to music from the '40s. I tried to explain how happy I was, and why, in Korean to the lady at the welcome counter (who turned out to be the club owner), but just settled for saying that the place was hard to find. And then I danced!

Swing dancing at Club Ann.A in Daegu!

It was perfect. Just imagine any lindy club you've ever been to, and then replace all the Americans with Koreans, and you have the scene I was in. As I watched for the first few minutes, I realized that most of the people there were at an intermediate or advanced level, and they would have fit in seamlessly with the style and atmosphere that I've seen at Philly's LaB. It was actually a bit intimidating, but I thought, "Well, if this is just like being at LaB, then I have to work up my own courage and ask someone to dance." And when I did, I asked in English, and peoples' heads turned.

That's all it took. As soon as the ladies in the room registered that I was American, not Korean, suddenly everyone wanted to dance with me. For probably the first time since coming to Korea, I felt the "rock star treatment" that many foreigners get -- albeit usually for being tall, white, and beautiful. I am, for obvious reasons, often mistaken for being Korean. But just this once, rather than blending in, I was the one who stood out the most, and the reception was warm, flattering, and kind of funny!

Here's a compilation of some short videos I took while they did some cute line dances. (My camera was running out of memory, so the videos are short and choppy; my apologies.)

Anyway, this was probably the highlight of my weekend. I had a fantastic time, and I enjoyed meeting all of the Koreans. They were an energetic, young group, although I was by far the youngest. Many of the follows I danced with spoke English well, but I also had a great opportunity to practice my Korean, since I was quite literally the only foreigner there, and lots of people wanted to ask me some questions (Why are you here? How'd you find us? Where are you from? How long have you been dancing?). At the end of the evening, I promised to be back soon, got some numbers, and then was blessed enough to be given a ride to the nearest 찜질방 to crash overnight.

Favorite song from the night: The Idea of North's a cappella cover of Stevie Wonder's Isn't She Lovely.
Odd cultural difference of the night: Koreans sometimes bow to each other (insa) after a dance.

Here's some info about Club Babalu and Club Ann.A:
Club Babalu: Salsa, bachata, and tango. From Exit 10 of Banwoldang Station (반월당역), walk east (away from all the other exits), turn left after the pharmacy onto a narrow road with noodle shops on both sides. Walk for about two blocks; you'll pass a CNS on the right, then Babalu should a door or two down on the left. Take the elevator to the 4th floor. 8,000₩ entry for the Saturday night dances, beginning 9pm. They also offer various leveled classes all week.

Club Ann.A: Lindy and blues, as well as a smattering of other styles, from what I could tell. From Jungangno Station (중앙로역), Exit 3, walk east for five blocks until you get to City Hall (대구 시청). From Gyeongdae Hospital Station (경대병원역), Exit 1 or 4, walk north for four blocks (you'll pass a park on your left; cross the intersection and go for one more block), turn left after the galbi (갈비) restaurant and walk two more blocks until you get to City Hall. By bus or taxi, look/ask for Daegu City Hall (대구광역시청). Here is a map.

The club is located in the basement floor of Building 276, right by the pharmacy on the corner across from City Hall. The neighborhood is deceptively quiet, so don't be alarmed if you think you're walking away from all the downtown nightlife (because you are). 8,000₩ entry for the Saturday night dances, 8-11:30pm.

Ann.A was begun in 2007 by a lady named Anna who still runs the place. According to some outdated information floating around the Internet, Babalu used to be located in the same building; but several years ago, Babalu relocated to its current home at the heart of the downtown area.

- - -
On a side note, I got my first haircut at a Korean salon today! The first five minutes were incredibly awkward, since I realized that I know absolutely no haircut vocabulary in Korean apart from "long", "short", and "Please give me a haircut." After the prolonged silence, the hairdresser whipped out her phone and started looking for photos online; she also made me have some sponge cake and instant coffee while she searched. It was nice, I guess. In the end, my hair looks completely normal, but the sides are now at an appropriate length. My host father says I look like a high school student. 8,000₩ for a haircut and complimentary shampooing! Not bad.

Happy Chuseok!

Happy Chuseok from Google!

Chuseok (추석) is the most important national holiday of Korea. It's billed to Americans as "Korean Thanksgiving", which is supported by both holidays' occurrence in autumn and the focus on food and family. But from what I've seen, there are more differences than similarities. Perhaps the most conspicuous difference is that the "family" focus of Chuseok is actually on deceased family.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to be able to spend Chuseok with my homestay family. They invited me to experience it, as most foreigners wouldn't get this kind of chance, and I was excited and accepted.

So I spent today in Daegu with my homestay family. (In fact, I spent most of the weekend in Daegu, and I'll have many more posts about my other adventures to write after this.) Custom dictates that a family will return to the father's hometown. So, we went to my homestay father's older brother's apartment, located in an old and quiet neighborhood where, thirty-some years ago, my homestay father grew up, biked to school, and played soccer.

Chalye jinaegi

The morning ritual was a 차례 지내기 (chalye jinaegi), a sort of memorial service for the family's late grandparents.

Despite the common translation of this as "ancestor worship", I would hesitate to call it that. I'm aware, of course, that not understanding the Korean language or really much at all about Korean culture, I could be totally off base. But the word "worship" has particular connotations that were absent from the scene I witnessed, with the grand exception of the prostration in front of the altar. Yet even in regards to that, well, Koreans bow a lot to many different people, and that is considered duly respectful, not idolatrous.

Anyway, the setup was really similar to the big rock unveiling ceremony that I attended last week: a table laden with food (fried sweet potatoes, fruits, dried squid and cuttlefish, a roasted chicken, rice, rice wine, rice cakes, and songpyeon (송편), but no pig head this time), incense, and candles. There was a paper screen with hanja on it that I couldn't decipher, and also smaller papers that represented the ancestors.

I was invited to take photos and film during the ritual, but even though I took advantage of this rare opportunity, I also felt so, incredibly awkward the entire time. "Oh, they're bowing, okay, this is a nice angle, oh, I wish the shutter weren't so freaking loud."

My homestay father burning the... well, burning something, which signaled the end of the ritual.

Some of the dishes prepared at the altar. Rice cake, fried vegetable pancakes, and a chicken!

After the memorial service, we ate all the food that was on the table. I'm just going to say that 송편 is delicious. It's probably the closest thing to mochi that you'll find in Korea. And then we ate ice cream and watched TV. Iron Man 2 was playing on a movie channel!

This is 송편 (songpyeon), rice balls filled with sweet stuff (in this case, sweet soybean paste).

In the afternoon, we set out for a mountainous area near Gyeongsan, a city southeast of Daegu, for the purpose of performing another 차례 지내기 at the actual grave of my homestay father's parents. We were joined by thousands of other families -- I'm not exaggerating -- who created an hours-long traffic jam in the mountains where the cemetery is located. I get the sense that most cemeteries in Korea are in the mountains; this obviously has something to do with Korea's very un-flat geography, but I wonder if it is also rooted in some traditional interpretations of spirituality and high elevation?

The hillside cemetery we visited, somewhere near Gyeongsan, with many families dotting the terraces.

Remembering 할머니 and 할아버지.

One thing is for sure: being in the mountains meant that the cemetery was gorgeous. It was very well-kept by thousands of people coming back to tend to it at least once a year, and the view from where we were was quite nice. Overall, the atmosphere at the cemetery was in fact more jovial, thanks to beautiful weather and lunch. Yes, after performing the memorial service, every family would take the food from the tombstone, spread out a blanket, and proceed to picnic. That was unexpected, I will confess. But it was also pleasant. There was more 송편! And fruits and bibimbap, too. We had a late lunch, and when we finished it was time to head back to Changwon.

Picnic time! The husbands drink and the wives prepare some bibimbap from this morning's leftovers.

Beautiful bouquets at every grave. They were all synthetic flowers, though! That's why they're so bright and perfect-looking.

On the long drive home (seriously, every highway in the country had a 교통 채증, or traffic jam, today), we passed a gorgeous sunset.

This was somewhere between Miryang and Changwon. I love Korea in the fall. Today's weather was so beautiful; I'm glad the typhoon that was slated to hit Korea today veered off course a few days ago. (It would've been the fifth!)

I'm going to close with two questions for my readers, especially if you are Korean. First, I've heard from three separate grown Korean women that Chuseok and other 명절 (myeongjeol), or traditional holidays, are incredibly work-intensive for the wives and mothers of a family, mostly because the food preparation takes forever and the men aren't expected to help. Because of this, they are sometimes resentful. For "progressive" Korean families, either in Korea or in the States, where gender roles are not as set in stone, is the workload ever shared among members of the family? And in the States, is the work actually less intense, in some respects, since less food is required and a cemetery visit is, in most cases, not possible?

Secondly, Chuseok obviously has deep roots in Confucianism. For Christian Korean families, how does this play out? I've noted earlier the dynamics of "ancestor worship" and harmless custom. Does Chuseok look different to a family that does not follow Confucian ideals?

And that's all! Happy Chuseok, everyone!

Stepping into North Korea (Seoul Weekend pt. 2)

When does the weekend actually start? After work on Friday afternoon? How about 3am on Friday morning? That's when ours did. The buses arrived at 3:30am, and we boarded them in the midst (or perhaps in the mist) of heavy morning fog.

The Night Bus... its headlights illuminated quickly-moving drops of water vapor from the fog. It felt like SF.

The first thing I saw in Seoul!

Earlier -- after the talent show -- I decided to watch the second Pokémon movie with Katelyn and Jason, which was a good way to keep me awake. I then began my morning by playing some lively rounds of Contact with peers who had also decided not to sleep. Our plan was to conk out during the three-hour bus ride to Seoul. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a very, very tall building. And then more tall buildings. And lots and lots of cars. It was much bigger than Goesan... Welcome to the Capital!

Our schedule for the day was packed. We had an official USO tour at the Demilitarized Zone, followed by a visit to the American Embassy, followed by an important briefing on our Fulbright contracts in the Fulbright office building. Even though we arrived in Seoul at six in the morning, we wouldn't be able to check into our hotel until nine in the evening.

First stop: The Demilitarized Zone. The DMZ is the border running close to the 38th parallel that separates South Korea from North Korea. The Military Demarcation Line (MDL) was established in 1953 following the end of the Korean civil war; the DMZ extends for two kilometers north and south of the MDL. It's a heavily guarded territory on both sides and is a constant reminder that there has yet to be real peace in the Korean peninsula.

Fulbright was privileged enough to gain access to a USO-led tour of the Joint Security Area, the only point along the entire DMZ where North Korean and South Korean troops actually face each other. There is a lot of complex history surrounding the JSA that I didn't quite take in, but we were able to see a lot of interesting things.

ROK soldiers standing guard at the MDL. In the background you can see a DPRK guard in his dark green uniform (the only North Korean I have ever seen).

First, there were the three ROK (Republic of Korea = South Korea) soldiers standing guard. The two blue barracks on the sides are conference rooms where peace negotiations have taken place. The gray building in the background is the North Korean "Panmungak", where North Korean tours of the JSA take place. You can see a DPRK (Democratic People's Republic of Korea = North Korea) soldier standing in front of the door on the left. His job was, apparently, to constantly watch soldiers and visitors on the ROK side, while the ROK soldiers' job was to watch the DPRK side. It was very quiet and tense, with the exception of our American soldier tour guide, who kept cracking jokes in between his very well-rehearsed comments at each site.

I took this photo of the MDL while standing in North Korea...

We were then allowed to enter the blue barracks on the left, which was the Military Armistice Commission Conference room for peace negotiations, although meetings were suspended in 1991. The room was small and we crowded in around a large conference table to make room for everyone. When I looked out the window, I got a better look at the concrete slab that marked the MDL. I was then shocked when our tour guide informed us that those of us who had crossed to the farther side of the room had already inadvertently stepped into North Korean territory, or at least their side of the Joint Security Area.

Also inside the conference room were two ROK soldiers in uniform, standing as still as statues. I immediately felt awkward when I saw them. What must they have thought about all these weird Americans barging into such an important area with their cameras, taking photos with them and being as touristy as if they were in Paris? I was really reluctant to take a photo with the soldiers, although many other people did, so instead I took a photo of them. I felt badly for them even as I focused the camera and tried to frame a good shot.

On the left, an ROK soldier. He's wearing sunglasses and standing in a specific TKD posture to denote attention but also neutrality toward North Korea. He is also standing precisely on the line that separates ROK from DPRK. On the right, Tracey is standing in North Korean territory.

The feeling of awkwardness only increased after the tour was over. Did you know that there is a souvenir shop at the DMZ? It's run by locals who live in the South Korean freedom village within the boundaries of the DMZ. I know that they need to make a living and sometimes rice farming isn't enough, but the very existence of the souvenir shop just baffled me. You could buy North Korean currency, postcards of the DMZ, t-shirts and American camo, and also a bunch of random novelty items and traditional Korean objects like fans, masks, and hanboks. It was weird...

The JSA souvenir shop, with ETAs milling around in slight confusion.

After touring the JSA, we continued to some other spots along the DMZ that were of historical interest. However, at all of these areas, we found that the historical interest was overshadowed by purely touristy interest. One site was an infiltration tunnel created by the DPRK that the ROK discovered in 1978. We donned hard hats and walked 73 meters (240 ft) underground to walk through a tiny, wet tunnel and see... a wall. A wall that separated the North Korean side of the tunnel from the South Korea side. It wasn't much, but it was interesting. You could even see the drill holes for dynamite and remnants of the coal powder that the DPRK sprayed all over when they made the excuse that the tunnel was for coal mining.

Still, what struck me most was how the site was just as crowded at the mountain hiking park I'd visited a few weeks ago. There were tons of tourists waiting in line just to walk down to see a wall, and also get a nice thirty-minute workout in the meantime. (The tunnel was actually pretty steep, so it really was like an actual hike...) It was a total tourist trap.

Who wants a photo with a happy ROK soldier? I did, I guess. (taken by Ammy)

They even had these little statues of ROK soldiers. Is this ridiculous, or what? I was just incredulous that the Korean tourist industry would actually make the DMZ into any other tourist trap. I could only ask, "Why?" I mean, it's important that the Korean government keep the memory and knowledge of the events of the Korean war alive, especially for younger generations of Koreans who have grown up mostly unaware of how far their nation has come in sixty years. But the signs, the souvenirs, the overwhelming number of giant tour buses, and even small things like the fifty-cent fare for looking at North Korea through big binoculars from the top of a hill... it all seemed very contrived, and I didn't know what to make of it.

Left: Ben, Jaeyeon, Bridget, Taxi, Jessica, and Susie at the DMZ. I really like this cute group photo, but why is the giant Hollywood-esque sign there in the first place? It's just odd. Right top: We visited a train station that runs only twice a day. It used to connect cities in South Korea to cities in North Korea, but the tracks that cross the MDL are now blocked. Still, the direction is toward Pyeongyang (the capital of North Korea), and from there the railroad continues to Russia and beyond. Because of the DMZ, the southern half of the Korean peninsula is isolated from the rest of continental Asia and Europe. Right bottom: Binoculars to look across the border and into the closest North Korean city, Kaesong.

In conclusion, although I enjoyed visiting the points of interest around the DMZ and got a chance to see things that many people will never see, overall I thought that the commercialization of the tourist sites was a shade inappropriate. We were learning some very important things about Korean history and its current political situation, but it also never felt as solemn as I had expected. I was intrigued and uncomfortable at the same time. And because the DMZ sites are not just mementos of history but technically still a war zone, traipsing around on a tour of a highly dangerous territory also felt absolutely surreal.

Unfortunately, we didn't have much time to process everything that we'd taken in that morning. After a quick lunch, we had only an hour-long bus ride before we were back in Seoul in the afternoon. Everyone was exhausted from having been up all night and we just conked out, and next on our itinerary was a meet and greet with the American ambassador at the U.S. Embassy.

Dinner with the 선생님s

I don't know if I've mentioned this in earlier posts, but one thing that's been making Korean classes a bit more awkward than they already are (picture a class of eleven females and one male, and two female teachers) is the fact that I am my class' 반장 (banjang). This roughly translates to "class captain", and it means that I have some classroom responsibilities (erase the chalkboard, for example). I also was in charge of planning an evening outing with our two teachers. Let me add that I didn't volunteer to be captain... I was nominated against my will and won an election in which I didn't want to run. Oh well, that's what I get for being an awkward minority!

Anyway, yesterday the Intermediate class skipped mediocre Jungwon University dinner and went into town to find a good 냉면 (naengmyeon, Korean cold noodles) place. Tracey suggested a good restaurant, but when we arrived there it was unexpectedly closed. Luckily, Kim SSN (short for seon-saeng-nim, which means "teacher") knew of another cold noodle restaurant just around the corner, so there we went.

Goesan is a tiny city with hardly anything in it, but one essential that it does not lack is restaurants. I think my favorite is still the Chinese restaurant called Shanghai that has 자장면. But until yesterday, I'd never tried 냉면 before, so I was excited.

My first 냉면!

The photo on the left is of my huge bowl of Korean cold noodles, 냉면. It was... not what I expected, to be honest. The beige-ish stuff in the bowl is ice and slush, and the noodles are in the dark brown pile beneath radishes, peppers, a boiled egg, and assorted green things. Cold noodles are vegetarian, and mildly spicy.

I was eager to try the bowl -- it was fairly large --but the slimy texture and slight tang from vinegar surprised me. I think I had envisioned something more like Japanese chilled soba noodles. But it wasn't bad at all! I finished my bowl (except for the slush) and even tried a bit from my friend's 비빔 냉면 (bibim naengmyeon), which is just cold noodles without the slush and with a lot more spicy sauce.

During the meal, I didn't have much to say. This is mostly due to the fact that my Korean is still conversationally poor. I did, however, ask about the other section that our SSNs teach -- the Advanced class. I'd heard that when the other class took our SSNs out to dinner earlier this week, the most lively topic of conversation was my own class. So I intended to return the favor and get all the latest juicy gossip about them... alas, I didn't receive very much for my efforts. Besides other students, we talked about Kim SSN's love life, Chinese, the upcoming ETA talent show, and aegyo (I'll explain that one later).

After dinner, we went for dessert at Tous Les Jours. "뚜레쥬르" is a Korean bakery and cafe chain that has arguably the best 팥빙수 (patbingsu, or shaved ice dessert) in Goesan. We got three flavors: blueberry (블루베리), green tea (녹차), and original red bean (with 떡!)

Tous Les Jours 팥빙수! Blueberry, green tea, and original red bean.

They were absolutely delicious, and incredibly 달아요, or sweet. I finished all the slush from every bowl! However, I'm going to have to say that Taiwanese 剉冰 and 雪花冰 (shaved ice and shaved snow) beat patbingsu by leagues. I was really craving some 玉井-style mango shaved ice, but really, sweet dessert and good laughs with friends and my Korean teachers made it a great evening nonetheless.

Not everyone in our class could even fit inside the tiny cafe seating section of Tous Les Jours. From left to right: myself, Kelly, Tracey, Lizzie, Kim SSN, Amber, Hong SSN, and Monica. (photo taken by Jaeyeon)

P.S. While walking back to campus, we were playing Contact, but I felt bad because our teachers weren't able to play with us. So, we learned a Korean word game instead! I was instantly hooked, of course, because I love word games more than any other kind of game. It turned out to be a word-chain game that I've played in Chinese class before: one person starts by saying a two-syllable word, the next person comes up with a second word that starts with the final syllable of the previous word, etc. In English, this might be like playing the last-letter game, but in languages like Korean and Chinese, syllables (or morphemes) are easier to work with than "letters". Here's an example of one of our word chains: 기사 --> 사과 --> 과일 --> 일요일 --> 일번. (Translation: article, apple, fruit, Sunday, Japan) It was tons of fun!