Small Kindnesses

As I've traveled, some of my most memorable moments have been the small kindnesses bestowed upon me by complete strangers.  It gives me hope for this tornado of a world we are now living in and reminds me that regardless of what is splashed throughout the media most people really are good at heart.

I can think of many examples since my first venture in 2007, but I am going to choose one to share from each country I have lived in.  Here is the first.

Italy

I was headed home to Siena, alone, via train from Cinque Terra.  I had been exploring the five cities that are woven within the coastal cliffs with a few friends but opted to go home one day early.  If I am recalling correctly I believe it was for some extra study time before an exam.

My route from Cinque Terra to Siena involved a few train changes, and the last change on the itinerary that had been printed out for me looked slightly different than the others, or than any of the layovers we had when traveling in the opposite direction.  I could not figure out why until I reached the station and inquired at the ticket window.  Apparently, the last leg of the trip would occur on a bus.

I should mention here that I would be arriving in Siena at about one a.m., and was reaching this final layover at about 11:30.  It was also my first time traveling independently within Italy.  I had signed up for the study abroad program alone, but met a fellow student at the Portland airport, and upon arrival in Siena immediately made some more wonderful friends; all of my transportation thus far had included at least a couple of them.  

After I showed him my itinerary, the man in the ticket window pointed toward the rear of the train station.  I went outside and looked around for a bus.  Nothing but some pedestrians, cars and a large white van across the parking lot. I had about twenty minutes until departure time, so I figured it just hadn't arrived yet.

One of the most useful lessons I've learned traveling is that sometimes, you just have to hope it works out.

So I was standing around, hoping it would work out, when I was approached by an Italian man.  A kindly face and dressed Italian casual, I would say he was in his late fifties, early sixties.  He struck up a conversation and we spoke in a combination of his elementary English and my barely above elementary Italian.

I learned that he had lived in Australia for awhile and that his daughter was currently studying there.  He liked it very much but he preferred Italy because there is nothing better than Italian food.  I can't remember what else we discussed, but I know soon I was starting to panic because my bus had not yet shown up.

He asked where I was going and looked at my itinerary.  He walked around and asked a few people, then came back to me and pointed to the white van across the parking lot.  "I think this is your bus," he said.  Whaaa?  White van, no back windows... not an ideal method of travel for a young girl on her own.

I think he saw my doubt and hesitation, because he walked over to the van with me to check it out.  There were several people (who looked normal enough, but who really can tell?) already seated in the van.  He spoke with the driver then turned to me and confirmed this was indeed my ride to Siena.

I thanked him profusely, got in the front seat (which was now all that was left) and said goodbye.

I don't know this man's name.  I don't remember what he was doing at the train station.

I do know that without him, without his generosity and concern for a stranger, I would never have realized that the creepy white van at the far end of the parking lot at midnight was my ride home.

While this is the main point of the story, the night hasn't quite ended.  As the van continued to stop and one by one each passenger alighted, I was soon alone.  Just me and the driver.  After midnight.  I was exhausted, but too paranoid and frightened to let myself doze.  "Please let me end up in Siena, please let me end up in Siena" was my mantra as we drove in silence.

Sure enough, or luckily enough, at about one in the morning the van dropped me off near the fortress on the edge of town.  It was about a five minute walk home from there, but as I stepped out of the van and thanked the driver I noticed light, a lot of light, coming from the center of the fortress and many people going in and out.  There were also lights strung up between telephone poles like they often do over the street at Christmas.

Okay.  Why not?  It's already been a night that has departed from the norm, why not cap it off.  I headed in to check it out.  Inside the fortessa a small carnival was going on, complete with rides, games, food and carnies.  Later, when I came back to explore with friends, we discovered the highlights ~ the chair twister (the one where you sit in a chair and it swings you around) and a haunted house ride.  Got some fantastic pictures out of that.

At the moment, however, I was too tired to venture out beyond the main entrance area.  I spotted a booth making crepes, and then noticed it made crepes with nutella.  I don't care how full or tired you are, you never, ever, pass up a nutella crepe.  I added sliced bananas to my order of nutellaey goodness, paid, and took one last look at the bizarre, colorful turn my night had taken before heading beyond the walls and back onto the dimly lit path to my apartment.

P.S.  I got some of the worse stomach cramps ever from that damn crepe.  Still totally worth it.  Long live Nutella.  


 

How Important is a Name? (update...)

So I asked my followup questions at the first opportunity, and these were the responses:

How do they come up with the new name to ensure that one also does not have a bad fortune attached to it?
My co-teacher and her mother looked online.  Apparently there are many resources for this potential problem.

How many times might something like this happen?
Usually only once, but she has a friend that has changed her name three or four times.

I'm assuming they just change the first name, but I want to double check.
Yes, their family name stays the same.

My co-teacher added that she knows the whole concept sounds silly, but names are really influential and very important in Korea, and even if she thinks it sounds superstitious and illogical she also knows that it is valid and meaningful in her culture. 

How Important is a Name?

Today I discovered something very interesting about the Korean culture.

The topic came up, as the good ones often do, when my coteacher asked me a question about American culture.

"Are names really important?"

I told her yes, but the how we treat that importance is different than in Korea.  For example, it's rude to call a teacher by their name in Korea because a name is a special privilege.  In America, it would be rude to call the teacher, "Teacher!" because names are important in a different way--not acknowledging someone's name is seen as impersonal and sometimes as a direct affront.  People also often take pride in their family name, because it represents their personal and familial history. 

She then proceeded to tell me why she asked this question.  She said that in Korea, names are very influential on a persons life and sometimes an individual will bring a name to a fortune teller to see what future that name contains.  If the future is not a welcome one, the name is then tainted and the individual will most likely take measures to change their name.  She said to change your name is very easy in Korea.  She followed up by expressing she knew that this was just a superstition, but it is often a superstition that is valued enough to take precautionary actions.

Apparently this last weekend, her mother went to a fortune teller and brought her brother's name into question.  The fortune told was not preferred, so her mother will change her son's name.  My co-teacher's brother is in college. 

I asked then will everyone have to call him by this new name?  He has to tell his friends and coworkers and acquaintances that his name has changed?  The answer was yes--because if everyone acknowledges and uses this new name, it is believed that the bad fortune will change.

I have some follow up questions that I am planning on asking as soon as I get the chance:

How do they come up with the new name to ensure that one also does not have a bad fortune attached to it?
How many times might something like this happen?
I'm assuming they just change the first name, but I want to double check.

What is in a name depending on the culture and/or belief system is such a fascinating concept.  In Thailand, I was told that parents often give their children "ugly" nicknames because they believe that the spirits will not bother an ugly child.  All of my students had nicknames, and this superstition was definitely proven in a few.  For example, one girl was called "Moo" which means "pig" in Thai.  Or there was another with a nickname that meant "Baby Whale."  (Both of these students were obese, which brings up a whole new set of questions about the impact of a name.)

Most of my students had positive, or neutral, nicknames so I'm assuming this is a superstition not all Thai families ascribe to.  Some of them may have seemed odd, certainly, but not necessarily negative.  Boat, Bank, Ploy, Beer, Meow, Viju, June, Opor, and Wei to name a few.

I've included a few quotes about names that I thought were relevant and provided something to think about.

“What's your name,' Coraline asked the cat. 'Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?'
'Cats don't have names,' it said.
'No?' said Coraline.
'No,' said the cat. 'Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.”
~ Neil Gaiman, Coraline

“I sound contemptuous, but I am not. I am interested--intrigued even--by the way time erases real lives, leaving only vague imprints. Blood and spirit fade away so that only names and dates remain.”
~ Kate Morton, The House At Riverton 

“A name can't begin to encompass the sum of all her parts. But that's the magic of names, isn't it? That the complex, contradictory individuals we are can be called up complete and whole in another mind through the simple sorcery of a name.”
~ Charles de Lint, Dreams Underfoot 

“We seldom realize, for example that our most private thoughts and emotions are not actually our own. For we think in terms of languages and images which we did not invent, but which were given to us by our society.”
~ Alan Wilson Watts

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”
~ J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone 

“I’m not my name. My name is something I wear, like a shirt. It gets worn. I outgrow it, I change it.”
~ Jerry Spinelli

“Do you really want to know where we come from?" she said. "In every century, in every country, they'll call us something different. They'll say we're ghosts, angels, demons, elemental spirits, and giving us a name doesn't help anybody. When did a name change what someone is?”
~ Brenna Yovanoff, The Replacement 

The widest gap between a guest teacher and a native teacher.

This last week one of my 5th grade homeroom teachers and I had a rare opportunity to chat.  The English offices are in a very remote location in our school, (which most of the time is a blessing), but it also means that the homeroom teachers and I only cross paths during class, when we have a room full of needy, chatty students to handle.

My 5-1 class had earned a movie day on their behavior chart, and I was standing at the back of the class trying to pay attention and monitor behavior while I watched the first forty minutes of Despicable Me for the third time in a row.

The homeroom teacher approached me and started to chat about our approaching Open Class Day at school--similar to Open House at home.  He was asking me if we did this in the States, and that led to the question, "How is teaching here different from teaching in an American school?"

Oh, let me count the ways.

The first reason that popped into my head is the most important to me, and the biggest con in my opinion to teaching students that don't understand most of what comes out of your mouth and vice-versa.

You don't get the opportunity to really develop a relationship with your kids.

With higher level students, this is a different case.  But with my third, fifth and sixth graders, our conversations are limited to what we are learning in the textbook or simple phrases such as how old are you, what's your name, what's your favorite food--the bare basics of conversation.  That combined with the fact that I have 272 students (not counting my middle school on Fridays) the feeling of "temporary guest teacher" never really goes away.   

If a student is crying in his or her seat, sure I can offer comfort but I can't find the root of the issue.  While watching a movie clip and students are making comments, I have no way of knowing if they are talking about the lesson or about who won the soccer game at recess.  If a student makes a joke in class and everyone, including my co-teacher chuckles, I'm left out of the loop.  The little chit chat and gossip that allows you to develop a more person rapport with your students doesn't exist in my teaching world.

This definitely affects my ability to manage behavior in class, but more than that it's a bummer that I can't relate and bond with my students outside of the classroom.  Especially when my little third graders run up to me chattering away in Korean, asking a million questions a minute that I don't know how to answer.  

This barrier does have a couple benefits--I'm sure that there has been many a conversation that I wouldn't have wanted to hear if I had understood it.  I imagine that over the past eight months my sixth grade boys have spewed out a whole array of fun facts that, if I had understood, I would have had to deal with.  It does lift away a lot of the responsibility that homeroom teachers or native teachers shoulder every day. 

But regardless of the benefits to not understanding everything that your students discuss around you, the communication barriers that occlude your ability to connect with your students take away some of the fundamental joys of teaching; getting to know what makes your students tick, what motivates them (other than candy, movies and games), and what they expect to get out of the salient and precarious student-teacher relationship.

What to write, what to write.

So those of you who happen by this blog every once in awhile on your way to another web page may have noticed there hasn't been a lot of activity.

And here's why.

Culture shock is a bitch.

Even when you are aware of what you're going through because you've experienced it before, it's still a bitch.

In Italy, I didn't experience even a hint of culture shock.  Despite it being my first time out of the country, no friends or family by my side, with several new cultural norms presenting themselves, I never had that feeling of "What the f%@* am I doing here?!"  It most likely had something to do with the large quantities of pizza, pasta, wine and gelato I ingested.  It definitely had something to do with the amazing people I met my first night in Siena. 

In Thailand, the feeling of alienation lasted a few months.  After this period of teary, slightly hysterical calls home and nights spent pacing my room wondering what in god's name had I gotten myself into, I calmed down, learned a bit of the language, and called the little city of Lampang my home.  I made lovely friends.  I fell enraptured with the country, its food and its people and when the time came to leave I had to pry myself away with a mental crowbar of logic.

Enter Korea.  My culture shock finally dissipated I would say about five months in.  Even though I was expecting the cultural beating, it came at me from a completely different direction and still, with all my awareness, managed to smack me in the face.

A couple examples, off the top of my head, would be the horrific driving skills (and this is after living in Italy and Thailand.  Trust me, it's a whole new level here), the complete lack of consideration for personal space, the incredibly rude staring, the food and the weather.  Essentially, it's the combination of all the above that really did it. 

And above all this, the most frustrating part about living here is that in spite of realizing that the feeling of culture shock has finally passed, Korea is still a bummer.

 Now, per my usual disclaimer, this is not the case for everyone.  But as a friend put it to me just the other week, "It's not really our cup of tea."  I couldn't agree more.  For a million and one reasons, some not even having to do with the country itself, Korea has not been my cup of tea.

Korea is the first place I have lived in my life that on my list the cons have outweighed the pros.  My co-workers rock.  For the most part my school situation couldn't get much better.  But many of the cultural norms and values that I had been prepared to write about via this blog are really very hard to deal with on a daily basis.  Then after I got over the fact that they were hard to deal with, they just became annoyances worthy of several eye rolls a day.  I have never experienced so many dislikes for a different culture, and being a lover of travel and diversity, not enjoying this small section of the world doesn't sit comfortably on me.

Hence the lack of posts; I really, really don't want this travel blog to be paragraph after paragraph of complaints and venting. 

I know it doesn't all have to be uplifting tales of adventure.  If the travel stories are at least mostly fact, this would be an impossibility.  As any traveler knows there are always things that go wrong.  Sometimes horribly so.  And it's these stories that often make the most fun anecdotes at a later period.  But for the most part Korea hasn't been a bunch of repugnant experiences that will later seem funny.  It's merely been slightly mundane and often irritating.

So the fact is that I haven't written as much as I'd like because ninety percent of the posts would be discussing how I don't like this, I don't like that, and this other thing is really quite obnoxious.  It's depressing to see my despondency in writing and that's what calling my parents and close friends is for (thanks guys!).

However, as of late, the culture shock has slowly dissolved and so has my intense frustration.  It is now the end of October and fall has been a gradual splatter of colors and dry, warm, sunshine filled days; I no longer feel like I am teaching in a sauna or trapped inside my air conditioned apartment.  This change is probably the most capacious reason for my recent uplifted attitude toward my situation (although in about two weeks I've been told we will again be living inside an ice cube).  Moreover, I've come to realize it isn't a crime against diversity if I personally don't favor a particular way of life.  It's okay that I'm not Korean culture's biggest fan.  However, despite my recent concord, in terms of this blog, all in all, the fun or interesting stories just aren't there.  Or if they are, they are too close for me to see them properly.  Check back after I've returned home for awhile--it's quite possible, actually quite probable, that my perspective will have changed.

In the meantime, I'm staring at this blog's homepage and it's incredibly creative, clever title and culturally denotative background thinking, "Damn.  What a waste."  Then it occurred to me.  I have been to thirteen different countries and no where on on my blog did I indicate I would only be chatting about Korea.     

Therefore my new goal is to rehash some old travel tales.  There are some good ones, in spite of the fact most of them usually end with, "I guess you had to be there..."

Hopefully incorporating past adventures will help to ensure that when I do feel the need to write about how Koreans can't drive, there is no attention paid to lower level students, or my co teacher at my middle school is slightly off her rocker, I won't feel like all I do is complain and people reading this hopefully won't think geeze what a downer.  Because as dreadfully tedious and agitating as this country often seems, life is still pretty fricking awesome.

So while I make no promises to myself about any outpouring of posts--I have other writing, lots of reading, a job and boyfriend cuddle time to consider--I do hope that more regular entries will occur in the future.  

Cheers : )

Some additional thoughts;

I've never kept a diary or a journal because I always felt it was incredibly egocentric.  (Only in my own case, however; I immensely enjoy reading others' notes on life.)  As I've begun this blog as well as some other writing projects, I have come to realize that I still feel this way and this is a huge hindrance in any personal desire to write that I might possess.  So I've decided to come to terms with the fact that yes, writing is actually pretty egocentric, and maybe I should just get over it.


One more passing thought:  Korea has taught me that if hell exists, I'm fairly certain most artists have it all wrong.  I don't see it all dry and fiery... it's bound to be an alternating combination of 100 degrees below zero and 110 degrees above zero with 200% humidity.  That way your body never gets a chance to adjust to a particular temperature, but instead is caught in a flux of extremes.

: ) 

Not loving every experience doesn't mean you've lost the thirst for new travel adventures.

Come August I was starting to worry that perhaps I had simply lost my love of exploring new countries.  Not enjoying Korea was depressing me immensely.  In every culture there are bound to be things you don't appreciate, but to not be able to move past this and take pleasure in the overall way of life?  It was such an unsettling feeling, and many of my fellow expats didn't make me feel any better--they seemed to be loving Korea, some of them already intent on re-signing.  So what was wrong?  Had I just grown tired?  Less adventurous?  Less flexible and open minded?

I was presented with the opinion that people who don't like it here just aren't trying hard enough.  After resisting not punching said people in the face, I took some time to think about if this statement contained any truth.  Okay-- since we are here to save money, we don't go out every weekend, partying it up on the streets of Daegu, Busan and Seoul.  We don't take the KTX to every corner of the country or fly to Jeju on the weekend.  But to me, these should be the extras; it's the quality of every day life that makes up the largest percentage of your time.  And for the first few months my quality of life was trying not to get hit by unskilled drivers, which made up 80% of the driving population, attempting new Korean food that I continued to not have a taste for, and freeze to death every time I stepped a foot outside.  I think the only part of my new life that didn't have me running home with hardly a peek behind, screw the completion bonus, was my school situation and the fact that the actual teaching in Korea has been a billion and one times easier than my teaching experience in Thailand.  Everyday quality of school life = peaceful and productive with just a hint of crazy. 

Late August we took off to Malaysia for our summer holiday.  I had never been so excited to exit a particular culture, but I was anxious how I would find Malaysia.  What if I didn't like that adventure either?  Thankfully, Malaysia proved to be the refreshment we needed.  We spent our time in Kuala Lumpur and the Perhentian Islands.  People didn't run their shoulders into us as we passed them on the street.  They smiled.  They might take a second glance at the foreigner, but the unrelenting, up close stare didn't happen once.  Okay, it actually did happen once on the subway, but as soon as I caught the person's eye they looked away embarrassed--they didn't continue to stare as if it wasn't an incredibly rude habit.

The food was lovely, the weather literally a breath of fresh air.  And with all the delicious meals, white sand beaches and gorgeous dives, my favorite take away from our trip was that I still love to travel and explore new cultures.  Even the aspects of Malaysia I didn't do handsprings about I still found interesting and enjoyed having the experience.  (For example, getting stuck--literally unable to move--in a human traffic jam in Little India.  Not the highlight of our trip but definitely an interesting situation!)

It's such a relief to know that I have not become someone who never wants to leave the comforts of their own home and who still enjoys the wayward adventure, when it's the perfect experience, and more importantly, even when it's not.  Korea hasn't beaten that out of me yet : P          

Three Juggling Monkeys, No Cups of Tea

My least favorite feeling in the world is fear.

I used to think it was fear of the unknown.  I know some people enjoy that feeling.  I've been asked "isn't it exhilarating not knowing where you're headed next?"  No.  The answer is no.  I like knowing where I'm headed.  I enjoy having a steadfast goal to move towards. 

I've been thinking, however, that fear of the known might be worse.  I'm sure it depends on the exact situation and there are a trillion scenarios that perhaps each have a different answer.

But at the moment, I'm talking about the scenario where I'm packing for my ten day holiday in Malaysia.

Last year I went to Italy.  It was my second time, and I was so excited about how prepared I would be this time around.  I would be returning to one of my favorite places in the world, and I wanted the trip to be perfect.  This means that most of my favorite items of clothing were a must.  I would bring my grubby, well worn capris I bought in high school. They had seen Italy, Greece, Paris and Barcelona, had wine spilled on them on a beach in Thailand, been slept and swam in, my boyfriend had patched them up after they tore while hiking, and they were one of my absolute favorite items of clothing. 

(I even remember buying them.  I was in Zumies with one of my best friends and when I went to try the capris on in the dressing room, a male employee about my age asked "Do you need help with that?"  I have no idea now if he meant to be insinuating or not, but at the time we giggling girls thought it was quite hilarious.)

I would also bring my favorite black strapless maxi dress-- incredibly comfortable, it could dress up or dress down.  I knew the Italians valued style and I wanted to be sure to bring a few items for when we wanted to dress up for dinner a bit.  I had bought this item at Target, a great find, while in college.  While it hadn't yet traveled abroad it had accompanied me on many evenings out, including seeing Les Miserables with my mom and sister. 

And at the very last minute, and I mean the very last-- folded right on top of everything-- I added my most favorite sweater.  Bought at Nordstrom Rack on super sale, it went with everything.  Had perfect pockets, could again dress up or down.  It was relatively new, but I had worn it almost every day since purchase.  I almost didn't bring it, but the color simply reminded me of Tuscany and I could just picture wearing it in the evenings while reading my book and drinking a glass of Chianti.   

These items were not monetarily valuable.  But the sentimental value was priceless.  I know getting attached to material things is slightly shallow and every philosopher known to man argues against it.  But I don't care-- I loved my well worn clothes, and these three items are just a few of several that are simply irreplaceable.   

And what happened to all of these items I held dear?  Somewhere between Portland, Amsterdam and Florence my bag vanished.  No record of where it could have gone.  The airline company Alitalia was the exact opposite of very helpful.  While almost six months later I was monetarily reimbursed for my loss, (mostly to the thanks of my Chase credit card, which provided me with travel insurance because I had bought the airline tickets with it-- something to keep in mind for future flight purchases...) almost every favorite item of clothing I owned was gone.  I hadn't even really considered the possibility of my bag disappearing forever-- my name, address, and phone number were written in permanent marker inside the bag, not to mention the several luggage tags attached to the backpack itself.  It might sound silly, but this loss left me a little traumatized.

It reminds me of a diving experience I had.  I love, love love love to scuba dive.  Diving in Thailand, I'd heard about the infamous trigger fish.  We were taught what to do if the fish decided we were threatening its young and attack.  Usually their territory is within a sort of upside down triangle, or a "v" shape with the point radiating from the nest, and when you swim out of their territory they will turn around, leaving you in peace. 

On a fun-dive, with a group of about six, we were attacked by a trigger fish.  And by "we" I mean mostly our dive master and myself, and by "attacked" I mean it was aggressively biting whatever it could reach.  We did everything we were supposed to-- blew bubbles at it with our spare regulator, kicked our fins toward it.  All this resulted in was few holes in my fins.  This was one pissed off fish, and I'm pretty positive it did not stay in its triangle.  Or maybe it was just a really big triangle... 

Eventually our group had to surface before the dive was over because it wouldn't leave us alone.  It was a scary experience-- a big fish with a few teeth comes at you underwater, it's not really a fun time.  Especially when earlier that day you'd heard a story about someone needing stitches after one assaulted their arm.

After we got back on the boat, it seemed like just a fun, slightly harrowing story to tell.  Every diver needs a few good dive stories, right?

Then I got back into the water.  Scuba diving is like meditation to me.  Peaceful, tranquil.  Until you're cautiously peering around every corner, waiting for the angry trigger fish to lash out at your face.  I now know, and fear, the possibility of what's out there.  Rationally I know that this was a pretty freak incident; I saw divers getting close to trigger fish and filming them, and out of the thirty-odd dives I went on in Thailand no one on any of my boats was ever attacked other than our experience, and it's fairly unlikely that it will happen again, at least with that persistent of a fish.   

Just like I know the possibility of having my bag permanently lost again is very small.  But knowing that yes, it can absolutely happen, makes packing a quite miserable experience.  Who wants to pack when you feel you should only bring items you can live without, while trying to bring clothes you'll feel cute and comfortable in? 

I realize that a lot of this sounds quite petty.  With so many problems in the world, trigger fish and lost luggage don't really amount to much.  But in my little life where really very little goes terribly wrong, (knock on wood many times) sometimes the little incidents lead to larger questions. 

What is scarier?  The unknown or the absolute knowledge of what can and does happen? Which breeds more anxiety? Which makes you hold your breath a little longer while your heart flutters a little faster? Which creates a larger ball of lead forming in the bottom of your stomach when you really stop to think about all the possibilities that you know about first hand, and then the ones you don't?

Fear is my least favorite feeling, and overcoming my deepest fears and moving on is I think my biggest personal challenge in life.  So here's to hoping my things arrive safely with me in Malaysia and to the absence of Malaysian overly aggressive trigger fish  : )  (Again, knock on wood a few times).   Cheers!

A Little Bit of Namsan

Most towns here have a nearby "mountain" (really a large hill) that is called Namsan.  I've only ever been to Sangju's Namsan, so I couldn't tell you if every Namsan is set up like ours.  In Sangju, Namsan has a track made of the same sort of turf a proper track consists of.  It goes all the way around the mountain, about half way up.  Ours is a little over two miles.  It's a great place for a workout when the weather permits.  The last time Jesse and I went up I took some pictures along the way to create a sort of photo tour.

This is a view from the track.  To get to this level you start your walk off with a steep incline made of concrete, the beginning of a driveway that continues to a sort of rec area and weather center that is stationed on a leveled section a bit higher from the main starting point of the track. 

This is taken from the same viewpoint but with a look at the track.  The trees on the slope to the left are part of a small orchard.  From the older signs (and the bike racks) it looks like bicycles used to be allowed on the track, but the newer, updated signs forbid anything but your two legs.

Stalking the Ajuma.  I believe I've mentioned this species before, easily recognizable by the longer sleeves, floral shirt, gloves, hunched back and over-sized visor.  A fascinating creature in my opinion, they are a fickle sort; you never know if one will smile and give you a piece of candy, patting your hand lovingly or glare at you, slapping your sleeveless arm in disapproval. 

One thing is for certain, and that is that the stereotypical Ajuma will never, under any circumstances, move out of your way.  I've been barreled into, pushed aside, and cut in front of many a time.  The culture here demands that the older you get, the more respect you receive.  In the case of the Ajuma, this is taken to a whole new level where nothing they do is considered rude or unreasonable.  If they shoved me into a subway shaft in their hurry to board they would remain blameless for their actions. 

With all this said, I have run into a couple of sweet ones.  The Ajuma that I think is the landlord for my apartment is adorable and incredibly nice and smiley.  She even steps aside while I'm running down the stairs on my way to school.  Her whole face lights up when she smiles and she always seems to have a broom in her hand.  Her friends that are sometimes around also seem nice, and they tend to grin and giggle at me whenever I pass by and honor them with the customary bow.

This is the exercise equipment that you pass.  There are several stations around the track.  The piece closest to the camera is a machine for your abs; stand on the rotating circle, hold the bar, and swivel side to side.  If you keep your shoulders square you can sort of start to feel it in your obliques...

These poles are stationed around the track as well as the dirt trail that travels over the mountain.  The not only light up the path at night, but occasionally music will be played out of the attached speaker.  I appreciate the nightlight, not so much the music.

Evidence that some wildlife still exists in Korea.  They haven't eaten or outsourced everything! (yet...)

We expected to see Jack and the Giant at any moment.  The picture doesn't do them justice, but these leaves are HUGE!

Aha!  More wildlife!  These pretty dark butterflies were everywhere.

It is also the season for dragonflies.  They are big, beautiful and they are out en masse.  Last night I was sitting on our roof reading and watching the sunset over the hills, and darting several feet above the tree that rises just slightly above our building were about a dozen at the very least.

Jesse had to put his hand behind the insect to get the camera to focus-- it kept focusing on the background.  I used my phone to take all of these pictures since our main reason for our walk was actually exercise; we didn't want to lug around the SLR.

Such cute giant little eyes! And the little guy was so cooperative, I'm literally just a few inches from it and we spent at least five minutes trying to get these pictures.  It buzzed off the branch a few times just to settle immediately back down.

These mounds appear everywhere in Korea, even along an exercise trail.  They are old burial sites, and there are probably half a dozen (that you can see) along the track.

Looking down the stairs from about a third of the way up, you can just make out the track below.  There are many spots where stairs branch off up the hill to take you to the trail that runs along the top of the mountain.  I like the track for a set distance, get-my-exercise-in purposes, but when you get to the top you feel like you're more in the woods.  With a proper dirt trail, it turns the track suit exercise routine into more of a mini hike.  In between the sets of exercise equipment you can pretend your far away from any city.

An example of the sporadically placed equipment along the trail at the top.  Don, if you're reading this, I think of you ever time I see exercise equipment along a hiking trail in the woods!  : )

The view from the exercise equipment in the picture above.  Not too shabby!  By the way, all the tall buildings in these pictures are apartment complexes.

More of the wildlife Korea has to offer.  We also saw a Korean chipmunk, but it wasn't quite as cooperative as the Korean insects.  If you're wondering, the Korean chipmunk looked just like a Skamania County chipmunk.  Cute, quick and just a little stuck-up.  Convergent evolution or did the little guys migrate?

Why wouldn't you hang a giant clock along the trail?

Jesse playing on the "abs machine." 

A peek through the trees at Sanju's many apartment buildings below.  It was pretty hazy that day-- we went in the morning because of the heat and humidity and the low cloud haze hadn't burned off.

Well, that's a bit of Namsan!  It's nice to have it green-- when we first arrived in winter, it looked like no color had ever touched the area.  It was quite dreary, not to mention freezing.  Next time we go all the way around the track section I'll take a few more pictures.  There are some more nice views and great examples of how they grow gardens anywhere there's a patch of spare dirt.  It's interesting to see just how resourceful they are able to get!

: )

Mt. Geumosan: My first true Korean hiking experience

Hiking is a huge hobby of mine back home and, living in the PNW, we have the perfect playground for it.  So when I heard hiking was considered the number one sport in Korea, I was pretty excited.

A few weekends ago we were invited for a braai (a South African BBQ) in Gumi, a city about forty-five minutes away.  We figured this would be a great opportunity to check out Mt. Geomosan, one of the main hikes in our area.  So after braaiing on Saturday, Sunday morning we set out from our Love Motel (ah yes... I'll add a p.s. to this post to explain the infamous Love Motel), taking a taxi to the parking lot at the foot of the mountain.  Stocked with plenty of water and a few snacks, we walked up the road to the "trail head".

The Trailhead

Now, most of the hikes I've been on, the fanciest a trail head gets is a parking lot, a sign, maybe a campground with water.  Perhaps a map that you may or may not be able to read and possibly, if the trail starts off at some sort of viewpoint, a wooden platform or fence that allows you to get a better look at the waterfall or mountain without falling to your death. 

Right after the trailhead

Trail heads in Korea, at least for well known hikes, are apparently another story entirely.  There are several buildings, maybe a coffee shop (or two), a place to pick up a handout map and color brochure (or two), a sign (or four) to show you your route and a HUGE wide path to start your journey.  In addition, there will quite possibly (as in this case) be a Buddhist temple.  Oh, and public restrooms.  No squatting behind a tree here!  There was also this machine with hoses that blew out air-- people were using them to spray air all over themselves after returning from their hike.  Maybe to get the dust or pollen off your clothes and hair? 

And also, the cable car.  On longer, more popular hikes, there are often cable cars to help you up and down the first leg of the trail.  We actually missed them on our way up, but managed to find the entrance on our way down. 

Hidden Temples on the Trail

When Buddhism was introduced into Korea, the indigenous religion was Shamanism.  Because Buddhism didn't completely clash with the idea of nature worship, it was able to sort of blend itself in.  The mountains that were believed to be the residence of spirits often became the sites of Buddhist temples.  This is why, when hiking, you often stumble up on a temple or two hidden away in the mountains.

Neon Neon Everywhere

In addition to the well equipped trail head and looming temple, something else that you will immediately notice is neon. Neon, neon everywhere.  Jackets, shirts, pants, shoes, hiking poles.  Koreans GEAR UP for their hike with specialty clothing and equipment, and each said piece is unforgivingly neon in color.  I felt downright dull in my gray pants, brown keens, blue t-shirt and black camelbak.

Getting Started

Even with the touristy feel as we started, surrounded by neon clad people and coffee shops, we were optimistic.  It was so nice to be back in the forest.  The smell of the pine needles and recently blooming flowers, the sound of the creek.  And everything was beautiful shades of bright new green.  The scenery was lovely and peaceful, and as we climbed higher (and higher, and higher) the views only got better. 

The Trail

One of my favorite things about Korean trails so far is the Buddhist culture that the hikes are often centered around.  We started out at a temple that was decorated with lanterns in anticipation of Buddha's birthday.

The temple at the start of the trail

As we climbed, we came to an offshoot path that lead to a cave.  The path itself was awesome, scrambling up rocks with pretty rod iron chains to keep you from falling thousands of feet below. Coming to the cave itself, first there's the view.  You can see the cable cars making their way over the trees, and far in the distance the skyscrapers that make up the city of Gumi.  In the back of the shallow cave, an outlet is carved out and set up with Buddha statues and lit candles.  Insense for offering and mats to sit on as you perform the ritual of getting on your knees and bowing three times before spending a few minutes in silent prayer.

The view from the cave

After the cave there was a waterfall where many people were choosing to picnic.  Then you climbed a billion stairs to reach another viewpoint, and continued up, up and up.

The view after you finish climbing the staircases.  The gap you see is the cave from earlier.

This was probably one of the most difficult hikes I've done.  I think that most of that stems from not being prepared.  We had all the food and water we needed, luckily, but when we were told about this hike, it was made to sound like it was a three hour round trip morning hike up the mountain.  Ha.  As we followed the signs, at first I thought it was just our math, converting kilometers to miles, that was making it take longer than we thought.  But I swear the sign would say 1.2 kilometers to the summit, and then, a minimum of 1 kilometer later, say .9 kilometers to the summit.  It was the never ending hike, and I thought my legs were going to give out.  No switchbacks, just straight up the mountain.  If we knew what we were getting into, we would have paced ourselves better.  However, we thought the steep climb was much shorter than in reality, so we just went all out, clambering up the side of the mountain thinking the top was just around the corner.
 


There were definitely moments where it was necessary to let out a stream of well chosen words expressing my displeasure at the incorrect signs.  There were also several moments where clinging to the back of Jesse's backpack helped me up a couple legs of steep incline : ) One of my favorite moments was when a few middle-aged Korean couples saw this and laughed, then the women proceeded to follow my lead and have their husbands tote them up the incline, giggling the whole way.

Almost to the top!

The climb was one hundred percent worth it.  The top gives you a 360 degree view.  The city is far below as a marker of how far you've come.  And the best part was a temple, right at the very top of the mountain.  I can't imagine the work it must have taken to build it so high up and on such precarious peaks.  There were also small mountains of stones.  Place a stone on the stack and make a wish.  Luckily we took pictures, because there are no real words that can describe how amazing it was to find a temple on the top of a mountain.    

The temple at the top of the mountain.

Add a stone for luck.

At the summit

Coming down was much quicker, but as always, hard on the knees.  I definitely want to buy hiking poles before attempting a hike like that again.  Almost every Korean had them, and now I know why!  We found the entrance to the cable car on the way down.  The feeling of floating over the trees was almost as wonderful as not having to walk downhill anymore.  

It was a beautiful hike and I'm so glad we made it to the top.  Hiking in Korea is such a great experience and its accessibility is a huge relief after all the very difficult to get to hikes in Thailand.
 
With all this said, we did have several "What the HELL?" moments.  (In addition to the hike being doubly long and triply steep than we originally thought).

What the HELL moments

I've covered a couple of them-- no switchbacks, the mini village that every trail seems to start from, the signs giving distances that I'm sure had to be incorrect. The neon colors and fantastic hiking equipment (seriously, it looks like people are hiking in the Olympic Games or something.)  Here are just a few more: 

Number One:
Stairs to help you up the mountain.  After the waterfall, there was staircase upon staircase to get you up to the next viewpoint.  Halfway up the mountain, instead of a proper trail, you climb up several hundred stairs. And not stairs that were just carved out of the mountain, but actual wooden staircases leveled above the ground.  What the hell?  It was very strange to us.

Number Two:
The little Ajumas flying by while you stand gasping for breath.  An Ajuma is a little old Korean lady, often with a bent back, who is very probably decked out in a visor, a face mask that covers everything under her eyes, and long sleeves no matter what the temperature.  There were several times, mostly after we realized that this was no quick jaunt up the hill, that we would stop and take a water break, me most likely commenting on how everyone who told us about this hike are liars, whoever made the signs is an incompetent idiot, and how I couldn't feel my legs.  (It was a great hike, but I like knowing what I'm getting in to.  At this point it could have been several more days to the top for all we knew.)  And I'm pretty sure every time we took a breather, several little Ajumas sailed on past.  At least these times we were sitting-- more demoralizing was when tackling a particularly steep hill you have to move over so the little lady can get by.  I'm in fairly decent shape, as is Jesse, but these tiny old ladies, dressed in their best hiking gear, visors and face masks in place, were amazing.  It was very obvious that hiking is something that is done often and with much pleasure here.   

THE WORST,  Number Three:  
Music with no headphones. 
As we climbed past and through other hikers, there were several occasions in which we were assaulted with other peoples' music.  You may think assaulted is too strong a word.  But these fellow hikers would have their cell phones out, music BLASTING from the speakers, with no headphones on as they hiked up the trail.  What the HELL?  In America, you would be given the look of death from every hiker you came across.  The people around the perpetrator gave it no mind, and as we passed this phenomenon several times I can only assume its acceptable behavior (which I later confirmed with my co-teacher).  But to me, it was just plain RUDE.  I don't go out into nature to listen to other peoples' crappy music.  Luckily, we only happened upon this several times at the beginning of the trail.  And even more luckily, there weren't speakers lining the trail playing music, which has been the case on other trails we've explored.

Even with the cultural differences that bombard you even when hiking through the woods, I can't wait to go on another hike here.  It's so great how accessible they are and the reward of a view and peaceful temple when you get to the top, well, you can't really ask for much more.  (Except for maybe a switchback or two...) 

The view of the mountain from the parking lot.

The P.S. I promised

 

The Love Motel

At the beginning of this post I mentioned the Love Motel and I feel the need to offer a bit of an explanation.  In Korea, as with most countries excepting America, children don't move out at the age of 18.  Many live with their parents until they're married, well into adult hood.  This cultural choice created the phenomenon of the Korean Love Motel.  Just because they're living with Mom and Dad, doesn't mean that these Korean adults don't want to get a little friendly with their significant other.  And as they are apparently courteous enough not to partake in their parents' household, they needed somewhere to go.  So these are hotels where you have the option to pay by the hour.  They are also a cheaper option as a place to spend the whole night.

The funny thing is, the parking garage that the hotel often boasts is dark, with dark panels that remind me of going into a car wash, covering the entrance so that people walking by can't see what cars are parked inside.  Leading me to believe that the hotels probably host both unmarried couples getting away from the folks as well as the adulterous with only an hour or two to spare.

When I first heard about this, I was a little wary.  Eww, was my first thought at staying somewhere that was built just so people could get it on away from home.  But our friends assured us that in addition to being fairly cheap, they were incredibly clean and very cool looking rooms.  I'm glad we got over our initial hesitation because they were very right.  The first love motel we stayed in was awesome.  We've stayed in two different love hotels so far.  Both have been great, but also pre-approved by friends.  I'm sure there are some creepy ones out there-- I don't know if I would be brave enough to stay in one without a recommendation.

Arriving at the hotel, you walk in say "one room" through a small open panel at the front desk. The front desk reminds me of where you buy tickets to go to the movies, except you can't see the person behind the very tinted window.  Prices are listed on the outside.  After we completed this transaction, they slid us the key and the overnight necessities-- wrapped toothbrush, toothpaste, some sample packs of lotion and whatnot.  The hallways looked like they were part of a disco club, complete with disco ball on the ceiling and neon lights.  The room itself had a gold satin covered love seat, gold satin headboard, purple curtains, chandeliers, and blue lights to give the bathroom a nice glow.  The shower had this huge shower head, the kind that you stand directly under and it pours on top of you like a waterfall.  Teapot, flat screen TV and desktop computer with internet.  All for about $40USD.  It was also spotless (at least from what we could see, which is all I let myself worry about when staying in any hotel.)  They do leave you a small package of condoms on the nightstand.  At least they're being responsible and helping prevent the spread of disease and babies!  If you're a foreigner though, just a heads up, condoms are made smaller here.  We heard this rumor so of course had to check.  It's true.

The only downside is that you can't make a reservation, so you just show up and hope they have a room available.

Jesse has some pictures of the room on his camera, I'll get them and post them soon!

 

Cultural Differences: What's Your Name?

My personal goal for this month was to learn my homeroom teachers' names.   Which would be no small feat, trust you me.

I have two "co-teachers" that are also English teachers.  One of these teachers I team-teach with twice a week.  The other I ask a billion questions of.  I can't say enough good things about them.  They have been lifesavers.  The rest of the week I teach on my own, but because Korean law states a Korean teacher must be present, the class' homeroom teachers are in the room with me.  And most of them are absolutely wonderful.  They help behavior manage and keep the kids on task.  Some of them are even able to translate directions for me.  I am so grateful and feel so lucky.  So I thought a nice gesture would be to actually learn their Korean names.  It was obvious no one really expected me to, but I thought it was simply because, well, I'm a foreigner who doesn't speak Korean and Korean names are fricking challenging.

I was very wrong.

I made this discovery two days ago.  My co teachers and I were hanging out in our office drinking tea and coffee and chatting.  (Yes, we work very hard.)  The PE teacher came in and gave me a beautiful book on tourist activities and sights in Sangju.  "Ha!"  I thought.  Perfect opportunity.  "Kate, what is his name?"  I asked after he left, pen in hand, prepared to write it out phonetically.  After she said it very slowly several times, I got it. 

Choe Sung Guk 

Okay.  Now that I have the name, which part do I actually use?  What is his first name? 

When giving their name, Korean's give their surname first.  I found this out when having my students make name tags on day one of school.  So here, I would call him Sung Guk.  

Except that I wouldn't.  When they got the drift that I was planning on actually using his name, they said, "Oh no but you can just call him PE Teacher."  "No!"  I said.  "I don't mind using their actual names!  I want to!  Isn't that more polite?"  At this point I'm still thinking they're trying to save me the trouble, getting me out of memorizing a dozen different Korean names that to me just sound like random syllables put together.  And syllables I can't even pronounce at that.

"No no no," they said.  "It is better for you to call him Teacher.  It is more polite that way.  If you want to say in Korean call him Son Sang Nim."

HUH?

In Korea, it isn't polite to call people by name, especially if they are older than you.  You can call your friends by name, but here "friends" is code for "people the same age as you."  So it is more polite for me to call out "Teacher!" from across the room than it is for me to use their name.  To call a much older person by name is a huge faux pas.  Everyone would would stop and stare like I'd just dropped an F-bomb in front of a nun.  If they are noticeably younger than you, such as my students, then its okay.    

Such a huge cultural difference.  Can you imagine if I walked around an elementary school in The States calling my co-workers "Teacher" ??  "Hey Teacher how was your weekend?" Can't you just see the looks I would get?  This cultural rule also results in students calling me "Teacher."  They did it in Thailand as well, and it drove me up the wall.  I've acclimated to it a little more at this point, but it's still odd.  It just sounds so rude, calling someone by their occupation rather than their personal name.  Yet here its the exact opposite.  

My co teachers actual doubled over with fits of giggles imagining me calling my principal or vice principal by name.  Even Mr. _______ is a no.       

Quite glad I found this out before I spent time memorizing everyone's name or created an uncomfortable and awkward "Do we tell the foreigner she's being incredibly impolite?" moment by using them!  (Because we all know the first time I would have used someone's name it would have been to the oldest teacher in front of a whole lot of people.)
 
I should probably pass this new info along to Jesse, since he was just the other day proudly telling me how he had memorized a couple of the teachers' names...

Cultural Differences: No Shoes

This is a post that I'm sure will be added to quite a bit in the future.  It's an ongoing list of cultural differences that I've found between Korea and the States.  Some bizarre and some more obvious, the little differences that separate our cultures are so interesting!

No Shoes

In school, in any housing, and in any traditional restaurant you take off your shoes.  Taking your shoes off in the house isn't strange to me at all-- we take off our shoes in our front entrance at home.  Restaurants and school, however are different stories.

Restaurants you just leave your shoes in the front entrance, where they will have shelving to keep your shoes while you eat.  And you'd better be wearing socks.  In school, your usual footwear is replaced with some sort of indoor shoe, from sporty slip-on sandals to loafers to actual fuzzy slippers.    


Now the strangest part about this for me is wearing socks with outfits that normally would not require them.  Today my co-teacher asked why I haven't worn my new Toms to school yet.  I told her because it just feels TOO weird wearing socks with them in accompaniment to my skirt!  How silly would socks look with your skirt and a pair of Toms?  But at school I can be found walking around in my skirt and blouse, socks and sandals.  In America when we dress nice, shoes are usually a big part of it.  At school in Korea, teachers will show up in a tailor made suit and neon orange tennis shoes.  Why not?  They're coming off at the front entrance anyways.  Then they walk around in professional wear with their cute yellow ducky socks sticking out out of their sandals.  Yes, even the men.  Sometimes especially the men.

P.S.  Just a heads up, you will all be getting cute Korean socks for Christmas.  They are awesome.  Just please don't wear them with your open toed sandals.

Coming up...  

What's Your Name?
Right of Way
School Lunch
Shoulders vs. Buttocks