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.