Ginsengocide and a Warrior Turtle

25 September 2012

First of all, I must state that in Korea, there is a festival for EVERYTHING.  Apple festivals, floating lantern festivals, walnut cookie festivals, mud festivals.  You name it, there is a festival for it.  Last weekend, we decided to head a little further into the heart of Korea for the Ginseng Festival in Geumsan.  That's right, folks.  There is a Ginseng Festival.  We got up early Saturday morning and rode a bus for a couple hours to Daejon, a really large city in our province; then we transferred to another bus for another hour until we came to the smaller town of Geumsan.

When we got off the bus, we immediately began to collect stares.  The inhabitants of our city are pretty used to seeing foreigners.  For the most part.  In Geumsan, however, it seemed obvious that we were most likely a rarity.  Armed with my phrasebook, I looked up the word for "ginseng" and the word for "festival," hailed a taxi, spouted off my new Korean vocabulary, which, luckily, was not difficult for the driver to understand in spite of my heavy American accent, and we were off.  Even in small towns there are taxis here.  It seems easier to get a taxi in the smallest towns in Korea than it is to get one in Queens sometimes.  The cab maneuvered down crowded streets full to bursting with vendors of all sorts and their patrons, searching for the best bargain.  It was hard to tell where the normal Saturday open air market ended and the actual festival began.  At the entrance of the festival, we spotted tent after tent after tent filled with all things ginseng.  Occasionally, some folks who were staring at us would shout "Hello!" and then run away, giggling at having exhausted their entire English vocabulary with the use of that one word.  We waved a lot, smiled a lot, and bowed. A lot.

Everywhere we went, people plied us with various Geumsan ginseng delicacies.  There was one very kind, yet oddly assertive, gentleman leading us from tent to tent, trying to get us to taste and experience everything the festival had to offer.  There was ginseng tea, ginseng candy, ginseng wine, deep fried ginseng (couldn't quite bring myself to try this one), ginseng jellies, ginseng syrup (with a honey-like consistency), and, to the dismay of our already overstimulated taste buds, some sort of ginseng extract.  The good-natured ladies distributing samples gave each of us a popsicle stick they had dipped in jar full of a dark, thick liquid about the color and consistency of molasses, and then they smiled, eager for the positive reaction they were sure we would have when we tried their tasty treat.  As soon as the dark goo assaulted my tongue, it was everything I could do not to immediately search for the nearest napkin to wipe it away.  I don't know that I can even describe the taste fully.  It reminded me of when Dumbledore, in one of the Harry Potter books, says he came across a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean that tasted like earwax.  It was oddly bitter, metallic, and earthy, and left an aftertaste like nothing I have ever experienced.  The Hubby and I both looked at each other and tried to smile as we choked down the stuff.  We didn't want to offend, but... Man, that was nasty!  Speaking of Harry Potter, ginseng itself really reminds me of those screaming plants in the Chamber of Secrets books.  I kept half expecting to have to cover my ears to prevent passing out.

After we escaped the ginseng food gauntlet, we decided to go into the Museum.  There, you can learn all about how ginseng is the life-giving root that has sustained the Korean people and, indeed, the world for hundreds of years.  Did you know that ginseng is apparently good for every organ and system in your body?  You only thought that beans were the magical fruit.  As I travelled around the museum, looking at all the exhibits and photos, I noticed that we were being followed.  Every time I looked over my shoulder or a few feet away from me at various angles, I saw a guy who looked to be the official festival photographer snapping dozens of photos of me and the Hubby as we wandered the different showrooms.  He was accompanied by another guy with a video camera, who was also probably shooting promotional footage for the festival.  Later, as I perused a brochure, I noticed that it was littered with pictures of smiling foreigners who, like us, had visited the festival in years past.  If one were to look at advertisements and information pamphlets for next year's festival, I am pretty sure you will spot a couple of Americans who look uncannily like us smiling back at you from the pages.

After we had visited all three floors of the museum and learned about the wonders of ginseng, we were in the lobby deciding where to go next, when two women appeared at our sides and hurriedly led us (and by led I mean nicely, but firmly, grabbed our arms and pulled us) into an alcove where they thrust 3D glasses into our hands and then, for lack of a better word, shoved us into a small room with a movie screen.  The tiny theatre was packed, but we found two seats together in the back row.  Dozens of eyes followed us intently as we made our way to our seats.  Not sure what to expect, we sat down and put on our glasses as the lights began to dim.  What we saw next made the entire trip worthwhile.

We proceeded to watch a 3D cartoon (thankfully, with English subtitles) in which the god of Ginseng, ages ago, took pity on mere mortals and gave them this magical root.  As a result, the humans prospered greatly.  To protect the ginseng, the god appointed a warrior turtle to guard it from any that might seek to harm it and take away the life-giving energy it provided.  The god of Death, however, became angry and jealous of the humans' prosperity and decided to steal the ginseng from the people.  In the year 2011, the evil god succeeds and defeats the warrior turtle with his evil swarm of flying insects.  The film then cuts to a scene of people purchasing ginseng from a market, and as soon as the god steals the ginseng, they begin to writhe around in agony, clutching their heads, hearts, stomachs, arms, legs, etc. (all parts of the body which ginseng is supposed to benefit...sooo....the whole body, according to Koreans).  The roots they are buying shrivel in their hands.  Pain and anguish come to the people due to the loss of the ginseng.  All of a sudden, a man appears at the side of the defeated warrior turtle asking if he is too late.  We then discover that the man is from the future, from the year 2035, where the world is dying due to the loss of the ginseng. We see a glimpse into the future when the man is given his mission to travel back to 2011 and to stop the god of death from carrying out his evil plans.  In the scene from the future, there is a huge chart on the wall that shows a dark graph depicting the loss of human life in correlation to the loss of ginseng.  At the bottom of the chart, the word "ginsengocide" appears, written in English.

At this point in the film, the Hubby and I are trying our best to stifle the laughter that perpetually threatens to erupt from us as we take in the amazing-ness that is this whole cartoon experience.  Which is 4-D, by the way.  Air keeps blowing on us every time the evil flying insects appear.

As the film continues, the future-guy and the warrior turtle locate where the god of death has hidden the ginseng, encased in a glowing, blue force field.  They fight the god and defeat him, essentially killing death, mind you.  After the battle, the future-guy collapses, apparently dead.  The ginseng magically begins to grow around him, lifting his still form off the ground.  Then the ginseng begins to shoot off magic bubbles that float into the man's mouth, reviving him and restoring ginseng to the world.  Christian metaphors abound.

Best ginseng propaganda film EVER!

As the lights came back up in the theatre, the Hubby and I just stared at each other, open mouthed.  "That. Was. Awesome," he said, his smile matching my own.  Only in Korea.  We made our way back to the bus terminal and headed back to Daejon, satisfied with our entire experience, if only because we saw that incredibly strange, yet delightful cartoon.

At the terminal in Daejon, I turned around, looking for the ticketing booth, when, much to my surprise, I spotted a couple of people we had met at our orientation in Cheonan the month before.  I called to them, and we agreed to meet up later to hang out.  We all ended up staying in Daejon that night, having a great time with other native Engish speakers.

Daejon night life!

Can't wait for our next adventure in Seoul next weekend for Korean Thanksgiving, or Chuseok!  Stay tuned.

Hail the Conquering Hero(ine)! or Onyang or Bust

20 September 2012

I can't believe it's already been almost a month since we left everything familiar to trek across the globe and begin this whole adventure.  And what an adventure it has been thus far...

I can't remember if I have explained this before, but we live in the city of Asan-si (si means city), and there are different parts of the city, usually referred to as a "dong," which is kind of like a neighborhood.  I guess, for those who are familiar with the way NYC is run, it would be like saying that Astoria, Sunnyside, Jamaica, etc. are all parts of Queens.  That is the closest way I can think to describe it, though.  At least I think I'm right.  I keep thinking, "Oh! Now I get it!" about multiple things here, only to discover that, "Oh, nope.  Just kidding.  Didn't get that at all."  Anyway,  all that rambling to say...

The Hubby and I went to Onyang last night (part of our "city" Asan-si) to locate a place where I can indulge my inner Zen Master and participate in hot yoga.  I have really missed this kind of relaxation/torture and have been wanting to get back into it.  It was just way too expensive in NYC, so I haven't been able to go to a class for over two years.  I searched the conversations on various Facebook Group pages for yoga studios in our area, and found a couple of places mentioned.  Getting directions to these studios, however, has been nothing short of frustrating.  Whenever I ask for help on getting to places in Korea, I often get somewhat vague descriptions like, "Oh, the post office?  Oh yeah, you just take the bus to <insert unknown-to-me, obscure-even-to-others neighborhood> and go into the green building with orange letters on it."

"Sure," I reply while I watch them saunter nonchalantly away, self-satisfied that their directions were more than adequate.  And that's just the other foreigners.  Directions from native Koreans involve a lot of Korean language, hand gestures, and frustration on the part of said native Koreans as I stare at them like a deer in headlights, completely unable to grasp any meaning in their entire explanation.  Most of the time I just stare, smile dumbly, and say "Gamsahabnida (thank you)" as I trudge slowly away, shaking my head in defeat in spite of the high spirits and confidence in my little Korean phrasebook that drove me to ask for directions in the first place.

But I digress...

After scrutinizing Google maps and sounding out all the names of places in Hangul, a process, mind you, that takes me about as much time as it does to read an entire chapter of a novel in English, my desperation for yoga combined with my meticulous preparation propelled me to take the plunge.  I headed down to the bus stop near our apartment and we rode it all the way downtown.  We found the main train station simply by staring intently out the window and pressing the "stop request" button when a large terminal-like building was in front of us.  I have to admit it probably looked a bit creepy to all the citizens of Asan to see my caucasian face and hands pressed firmly against the window of the bus, searching wildly around like some psychotic mime trapped in 'box.'

Once we finally reached the station, we got off the bus and began our next part of our scavenger hunt.  Not only was I looking for a restaurant that I had never seen before, which was my marker for the building in which the studio was located, I was also trying to decipher the word "yoga" written in another language at the same time.  I wandered the streets slowly, mouth agape, most likely contributing to the "psychotic foreigner mime" persona, until angels began to sing, a light shown from Heaven above, and I FOUND MY DESTINATION!  Gleefully, I skipped up the steps of the building, past the restaurant on the ground floor and up to the elusive yoga studio.  I had been trying to figure out how to find this thing for the past two weeks!  Small figures suspended in various yoga postions beckoned to me from their spots on the wall like tiny little lighthouses guiding my path, telling me I was indeed on the right track.  When I reached the correct floor, a kind little woman greeted me warmly.  In Korean.  With a lot of universal sign language, the help of a schedule sheet with bits of English on it, and the four or five Korean words I actually understand, I successfully signed up for a 10 class card.  (At least I think it was successful.  We'll see when I actually try to go to a class later today.)  Giddy with my little victory in communication and the promise of sweat-filled yoga classes to come, the Hubby and I decided to celebrate by visiting the... wait for it... PIZZA HUT (that's right, a PIZZA HUT) for a delicious taste of home.

After enjoying the bliss of cheese melted on the crisp, buttery deliciousness that is the Pizza Hut original pan crust, we walked back to the bus stop to head for home.  The Hubby, wanting something a little sweet after dinner, stepped into a convenience store while I waited for the bus.  Beside me, I heard a timid voice ask, "Where are you from?" in accented English.  I turned to look to see where the question had come from.  A young man in his mid-twenties (?) stood looking curiously at me.  I smiled and answered, "America" (trying to explain anywhere other than Chicago and New York is too difficult, but being the true Texan I am, I cannot claim to be from anywhere else).  In very broken English, Brian (that is his English name*) began the longest, most arduous, most determined attempt I have ever heard to converse with someone in another language.  He tried so hard to recall his entire English vocabulary and was absolutely set on having a conversation and practicing his second language with native speakers (the Hubby had joined me shortly after Brian started talking to me).  The Hubby often says he cannot leave me alone for a minute without someone coming up and trying to chat me up; it's usually elderly people.  He says I look kind and approachable.  I think it's my dazzling wit and charm.  It must emanate from me in magnetic waves. ;)  That, or I remind people of their daughter, sister, or granddaughter.  Anyway, Brian talked to us about everything he could for about a full hour while we waited for our bus in vain; it must have stopped running.  At one point, he even borrowed our Korean phrasebook to keep coming up with subjects to talk about.  We were trying so hard to extricate ourselves from the conversation in order to catch a taxi so we could go home, but he was just so dead set on continuing to practice his English and I had to admire him for his tenacity.

The Hubby and I kept exchanging glances that said, "Are you ready to go?" "So ready." "Can you get us out of this?" "What? So soon? You mean you're not enjoying yourself?" <insert narrowed eyes here> "OK. OK. I'll try to break in without seeming too abrupt."  Or some form of that unspoken conversation passed between us anyway.  Finally, we were able to explain to Brian that we needed to leave after he started trying to get us to rate his English speaking, listening, and writing abilities on some sort of numeric scale.  At least we think that's what he wanted, but we don't know for sure.

We had to catch a cab after waiting for the bus for an hour in vain; it must've stopped running.  Luckily, taxis here are much less expensive than in NYC.  At home, I plopped down on the couch.  My face hurt from smiling so much.  I smile when I have on my listening face with strangers.  I was also tired after our little adventure.  Tired.  But so is every other conquering hero after vanquishing her foe.  Winning!

*Note: Often, Korean students will give themselves English names as well.  They generally choose their own names.  In our school we have a Lovely, a Wisdom, and an Obama.  In my friend's school, she has a Samsung and a Children.

Jimjilbang!...or Naked in Korea

16 September 2012

A friend we met at orientation came to visit us this weekend.  Original plans fell through, so after our visit to the art gallery in Cheonan, which was small but full of some interesting pieces, we decided to make an impromptu visit to the famous hot springs spa for which our Korean hometown, Asan, is well known.

First, perhaps, I should lay out some information on spas in Korea.  They are called jimjilbangs, and Koreans frequent them quite often.  Here is a little bit on jimjilbangs a la Wikipedia:

"A Jjimjilbang (찜질방) is a large, gender-segregated public bathhouse in Korea, furnished with hot tubs, showers, Finnish-style saunas, and massage tables.  Jjimjil is derived from the words meaning heated bath. However, in other areas of the building or on other floors there are unisex areas, usually with a snack bar, ondol-heated floor for lounging and sleeping, wide-screen TVs, exercise rooms, ice rooms, heated salt rooms, PC bang, noraebang (karoake), and sleeping quarters with either bunk beds or sleeping mats. Many of the sleeping rooms can have themes or elements to them. Usually Jjimjilbangs will have various rooms with different temperatures to suit your preferred relaxing temperature. They inlay the walls with different woods, minerals, crystals, stones, and metals. This is to make the ambient mood and smell more natural. Often the elements used have traditional Korean medicinal purposes in the various rooms."


My thoughts were, "Well, that small description will prepare me for what I am about to experience, right?"  Come on, folks, this is Korea!  Nothing can prepare you for what you will encounter here! 

After an incredibly long bus ride, we finally decided to just grab a taxi and head over to the spa.  It was a good thing we took a cab, by the way, since the distance between where I thought the spa was and where it actually is was a good seven or eight kilometers (about five miles for you 'Mericans out there).  When the taxi driver passed the place where I was sure the spa was supposed to be and headed out for the Asan countryside, I admit that my imagination began to create awful scenarios in which I had led my unsuspecting husband and friend into a foreigner's nightmare.  I pictured myself having to carry out swift ninja-like punishments on the gang of cab drivers/thieves who were going to assault us and force us into their lives of organized crime as their English-speaking counterparts.  OK.  Maybe that's a little extreme.  Let's just say I was nervous I had not communicated effectively and we were going to end up in the middle of nowhere with a gigantic fare to pay.

When I saw the sign for the spa, thankfully written in English as well as Hangul, I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped worrying we were going to have to hitchhike our way home, penniless and without a Korean phrase book.  We uttered our thanks to the taxi driver, paid about 12 bucks for what would've been a $30 cab ride in NYC, and went inside.
For 8,000 won, about $8, we gained admission and were given some sort of numbered, electronic key card that you wear around your wrist like a watch.  With this, we were able to open our first locker, a shoe locker.  Remember that, in  Korea, you must take off your shoes before entering an indoor area.  After we deposited our shoes, we headed out to find the locker rooms.  When we found them, we parted company, agreeing to meet in the lobby in two hours.  The Hubby went off alone to the men's area, and our friend and I proceeded to join the rest of the women.

We walked into the locker room where rows and rows of numbered lockers greeted us.  There had to have been at least 4000 lockers in all.  Here's where I started to realize I wasn't in Kansas anymore, Toto.  Women of all ages, shapes, sizes, etc. were all walking around.  Completely. Stark. Naked.  Not a stitch, friends.  And no self-consciousness to boot.  My friend and I found our lockers, looked at each other, shrugged, and then stripped.  Talk about vulnerable!  When in Rome, though.  When we started for the actual spa area, I saw some small towels, which Koreans use as bath towels, but which are roughly the size of hand towels in the States.  About two feet by one foot.  As soon as I saw them, I grabbed one to try to preserve a modicum of modesty.  It didn't cover much, but it provided the smallest bit of security.  Then we went to the shower area.  You are supposed to shower before entering the rest of the spa area.  Afterwards, I looked around, my eyes huge and mouth gaping, as I saw what looked like an all female nudist colony on vacation.  In the larger area were about ten small pools. Some had whirlpools and were called "health baths," some had just still, hot spring water, some were cold (for contracting your pores once the hot baths had opened them), and a couple were filled with green liquid, which we found out (from one woman who was very kind and spoke English with us) were infused with some sort of healing herb.  (The Hubby, reading this entry over my shoulder, has just informed me, with chagrin, that the men did not have a healing herb bath.  Guess the ladies are special.)  We tried a little time in each type of pool and all the saunas as well.  There was a "fog room" (steam room), a regular sauna, and a charcoal room in which large logs of charcoal lined the walls and gave off a sort of earthy aroma therapy.  In each room was a little hourglass with sand, which you were supposed to flip over when you entered to ensure that you stayed there just the right amount of time. 

I have to say, too.  I am already stared at in Korea a lot, due to my freckled, fair skin and red hair, but it is really disconcerting for everyone to stare at you while you are totally naked.  It was pretty surreal.  As I looked around while soaking, though, I realized that this whole naked bathing thing was so not out of the ordinary for everyone - except for me and my American friend.  Kids played in the cooler pools, splashing around and having fun; grandmothers and mothers relaxed and chatted while keeping one eye trained on the kids.  It was like a normal day at the pool in the U.S.  Except for the nakedness.

After about one hour, we decided that two had been a little ambitious, and went to the last area - the scrubbing area.  The scrubbing area consisted of faucets with moveable shower heads placed in front of mirrors, giant pump bottles full of body wash, and buckets, which had been turned over to provide seats.  Here, the women scrub away to exfoliate their skin, and often the skin of each other.  There are even massage tables where you can be professionally scrubbed by a therapist, for a fee.  We realized afterward that there were actually vending machines in the locker room to dispense small scrubbing mitts in case you had forgotten to bring your own.

After we dried off, we went back to our lockers to get dressed again and went to meet the hubby in the lobby.  We had been waiting about ten minutes before I saw him and flagged him over to where we were sitting.  He looked a little shaken, but none the worse for wear.  The poor guy had had to experience the whole thing by himself - if you don't count the dozens of Korean men that were in there with him.

We left the spa, hailed a cab, and headed for home.  Relaxed? Yes!  Enlightened a bit more about Korean culture? Indubitably!  Excited about the next jimjilbang experience?  Ummmm....  Still weirded out about being naked in front of a plethora of strangers while we lounged together in a hot tub?  You bet!!!

Tackling Taejosan, Twisted

8 September 2012

On Saturday, we went to Cheonan, a bigger city next to Asan, where we live.  There, we hiked up Taejosan, one of the smaller mountains in Korea.  It was my first time to actually hike up a real mountain.  Initially, I was thinking, “Come on.  How different can it be from hiking in Broken Bow, Oklahoma?”  Ummm…the answer is…pretty different.  To get to the actual hiking trail, we had to walk up a really long paved road, which in and of itself was pretty steep.  I have to admit that I was already huffing and puffing a bit in spite of the fact that I jog almost daily.  When we got to the top of the paved section, there was a really beautiful temple.  

The colors they use on temples here are amazingly vibrant.  

After resting under the guise of taking lots of pictures, I began the trek up the mountain.

I tried to stay to the back so as not to slow anyone else in the group down although I wasn’t doing a horrible job of keeping up and was only slightly abashed when this seventy-five year old man in full hiking regalia whizzed past me, taking with him my mountaineer-ing dignity. 

Cleverly disguised cell phone tower

I was happily climbing along when suddenly I stepped onto a tree root that was rising from the ground a bit.  As my ankle started to move forward, my foot stayed where it was.  A sharp intake of breath preceded the minor expletive that escaped my lips (don’t worry Mom; it was only a minor one).  My hiking companions turned to see what had happened only to find me bent from the waist, clutching my twisted ankle.  After the initial surprise, I realized it wasn’t really that bad.  I probably just needed to pay closer attention to the path in front of me.  I assured everyone that I was fine and just needed to walk it out, and we continued. 

When we finally reached the peak, we looked out over the city of Cheonan, which is much bigger than I would have thought.  I had a similar, but opposite, reaction to New York City when I moved there.  I had always thought of NYC as this huge, overwhelming place only to discover that the island of Manhattan itself was so much smaller than I had initially expected.  Cheonan is a sprawling city with various, smaller pockets of commerce and residential buildings.  It is similar to Dallas in this way.  It is spread out so much as to make public transportation take a distant second place to the convenience of a personal vehicle, as we have been discovering during our time here so far.  Good thing I like to read on buses J.

On the way down the mountain, I was talking too much, and, sure enough, I twisted the same ankle again.  This time, I went down for a good three or four minutes while the Hubby and our friend looked for a walking stick for me to use as I navigated the descent.  I only hope the scene didn’t too closely resemble that Family Guy episode where Peter Griffin is lying on the ground, constantly moaning and grunting in pain for an exorbitant amount of time.  I am proud to say, though, I sucked it up and kept going.  I felt a little Gandalf-like with my staff (or large tree branch, however you like to refer to it) and, in spite of my swelling ankle, had an overwhelming urge to yell, “You shall not pass!” to the family of Korean hikers passing me in the other direction.  I refrained. 

The way down the mountain seemed even more difficult than the way up, not only because of my ankle, but also due to the vast amounts of rocks in various sizes that littered the path.  It took all my strategic ability to place my support branch in exactly the right spot so as not to injure myself all over again.  Finally, I met the rest of the group at our main destination – a gigantic statue of Buddha nestled on the side of the mountain.  It took me aback as I rounded the corner to see the large figure looming overhead.  It really was quite impressive.  We took more pictures and started down the paved road that led to the foot of the mountain.

After the hike, we ate at a vegetarian buffet nearby and then, exhausted, headed home to our little apartment where the Hubby found some frozen blueberries in the fridge to wrap around my ankle.  Be assured, however, I am healing nicely (but I admit, I have milked it for all it’s worth J).

Same as the Others

4 September 2012

So it’s been a while since I wrote anything new in here.  A lot has happened in the last few days.  We moved into our new apartment in Asan-si, started working at our school, navigated a Korean barbeque restaurant all by ourselves, and slept on the floor on a Korean sleeping mat while waiting for a more western-style bed.  But first things first…

Our co-teacher came to get us from orientation last Thursday.  When the time came for the actual closing ceremony, we were already pretty tired, having sat through two, hour-long lectures and two twenty minute skits from the middle school teachers with no break.  To be fair, the skits were pretty funny, but we were ready to be on our way.  When the ceremony began, my initial thought was, “Oh, this’ll be fast.”  Alas, dear reader, I was sorely mistaken. 

Koreans love ceremonies, and they give a lot of thought, effort, pomp, and circumstance to those particular events.  We all stood in a line on the auditorium stage (in groups of course as 150 native English teachers are way too many people to stand on stage at one time) while the director of education for the province gave each of us certificates in turn.  As the first person received his certificate, the supervisor for the teaching program read his name, the entire certificate as well as the names of each supervisor, director, and otherwise, indicated on the certificate.  As she moved on to the next teacher, taking a deep breath to begin again, the Hubby and I turned to each other, slightly ashen faced.  An unspoken question passed between us.  “Is she going to go through that entire monologue for every. single. person?  All 150 of us?”  I braced myself for the worst, but when I turned back, the supervisor was finishing the introduction of the next teacher.  “Wow,” I thought, “that went much more quickly than the first one.”  Then I listened to the next intro, and figured out why.  After every person’s name, the supervisor was now adding the phrase, “same as the others.”  After every person.  It went something like this.  “John Smith. Same as the others….Susie MacIntosh. Same as the others….Edward Scissorhands. Same as the others…” and so on and so forth.  For 150 people.  At one point, I was giggling so hard under my breath that I was calling attention to myself.  Granted, I had gotten a little slap happy from the fatigue that had accompanied the plethora of seminars from the last few days.

After that part of the ceremony was over, we then sat through two slide shows of pictures throughout the week, one set to Bruno Mars’ song, “Just the Way You Are” and the other to an interesting mix of pop songs and Por ti Volare.  Then after that, two of the Native Teachers, one of whom was the Hubby, had been asked to give a sort of farewell speech.  He did a great job.  Short and sweet.  To experience his overwhelming wit yourself, click here.

Finally, we met with our co-teacher, who drove us to our hotel in our new town - in the middle of rain from the second typhoon barreling down on Korea within a week.  That’s right, ladies and gents, two typhoons in one week.  Luckily, it was just rainy and windy, and the damage was far less than anyone in our province expected.  The hotel itself was very nice, but we were just a little disappointed at not being able to unpack and settle into our new place.  

The lights and A/C turned on via the same remote as the TV.  Still livin' the dream - out of a suitcase :)

That night, our co-teacher took us to dinner, and the reality of Korea began to settle in a bit more - no English on the menu.  Insert <Gasp!> here. If you have ever looked a menu written entirely in Hangeul (Korean), you will know what I am talking about. I'll try to find one to post for you at a later date, so you can share in the oncoming culture shock in which I am sure we are about to be immersed.

Stay tuned for our next episode.

Lost in Translation

27 August 2012

We have been having Survival Korean classes every morning.  I think it might be more accurate to say we have been surviving Survival Korean classes every morning.  It’s early and my brain is not awake in spite of the rice and beef I have eaten for breakfast.  That’s right, friends, rice and beef for breakfast – with maybe some squid and things that look like potatoes (but are definitely not potatoes) that have been pickled (or something) thrown in for good measure. At lunch, I even found a whole shrimp, with head intact, in my soup.  Must’ve been what made it so delicious. (It really was delicious.  The soup has never let me down thus far.)

Today, we sat through more lectures, one of which was led by a young Korean teacher, who confessed that it was his first time speaking to a group of native English speakers.  He also let us know that he was very nervous, and we tried to assure him that he was doing fine and that we were in complete support of him.  He told us he was nervous about making a big mistake and proceeded to share a really funny story.

He worked for the U.S. Army as an interpreter, and each Korean interpreter would room with a U.S. soldier.  One day a friend of his…he insists, by the way, this happened to a friend and not really to himself…anyway, a friend of his had practiced the phrase, “Can you give me a ride?” over and over again, so he could ask his American roommate for a ride into town the next time he went.  So a few hours later, the roommate came in to announce that he was leaving to go into the city, and our lecturer’s friend grabbed his arm and spat out, more aggressively than he meant to, “Can you ride me?”  The soldier just looked at him, so the friend asked again, “Can you ride me?”  The American just turned and left the room in a hurry.  Later, the poor Korean guy found out that the soldier had gone to his superior officer and asked to be reassigned to another room.  Confused, the friend relayed the story to our lecturer, who pointed out the difference in meaning between the two phrases.  Misplaced verb usage indeed!

This is precisely what I expect to do.  I have this massive fear of trying to say something nice and polite when, in actuality, I have cursed at my new principal and called his mother something resembling a promiscuous barnyard animal.  For now, I’ll just try to make do with “Hello/Good morning” and “Thank you.”