Koreans and guidebooks are unanimous in their agreement that autumn is the best season to visit Korea. I now see where they are coming from… the foliage here is breath-taking. This picture was taken in the mountains, on the way up to a famous Korean temple.

Happy Halloween! --L

HELP! It is 10:46 PM on a Sunday night and I am locked inside an empty, darkened student dormitory with only my computer and a Canadian guy for company.

Seriously.

But no need to panic and rush aboard the next flight to Korea. I’ve been well watered and fed and assured of my release upon the morrow.

I cannot recall actually consenting to this imprisonment. A few weeks ago, my guiding teacher informed me that I would need to come to work next Sunday to “record a test.” (My reaction: “?”) Oh, and that I would need to spend the night at school. (My reaction: “???”) Oh, and that I’d probably be going on a field trip with other teachers the next day. (My reaction: “??????” and a shake of my head). I perfectly understood his words but had no clue what this really meant. Although, now that I’m remembering this, my reaction to this information was a wrinkling of the nose and a dubious “ok.” Hmm… I guess that level of consent is all that it takes!

As this weekend approached, I questioned several people and gleaned a few more pertinent details. First of all, the test that I was recording was for next year’s prospective students. Second, our school would also be utilizing a Canadian guy with a different, yet preferable, accent. (I laughed at this notion and again when I found out that the Canadian is from Vancouver, BC) And third, that the Korean English teachers would be working the entire weekend to create this test: on Saturday they would craft the test and on Sunday we “might do a little proofing” (uh-oh, I knew what that meant), and then we’d record the test.

But I live a half a block away from the school and am already handicapped when it comes to communicating with the general populace. So, why, why the need to sequester me? Well, it isn’t just me. It is everyone involved with the test. All of the English teachers (11), a vice principal (1), me (1), and the Canadian (1). And we are all locked in for security reasons. Tests are a major deal here in Korea. Major. And apparently, for a test like this, there are many unscrupulous parents that would be willing to pay for information relating to their child’s admission into our special school.

Wow. (grimace)

So this morning I threw overnight items into a bag and arrived at the student dorm, as instructed. I surrendered my cell phone and was welcomed into the fold, given a few minutes to select a dormitory room for myself (remind me to teach my girls the English idiom “cleanliness is a virtue”) and immediately sat down with a red pen, a draft copy of the test, and two other English teachers. And we proofed. A lot. Although the test English was far and away the best English that I’ve yet proofed, there were 40 questions comprised of dialogs, lists, long statements, and there were lots of details to iron out. My proofing started at 9:10 but when the Canadian arrived an hour later, we all gathered in one of the classrooms, with literal armfuls of fruit and snacks and juices and more snacks. One teacher edited on the laptop while we “natives” read aloud from the test and edited it. Decisions such as “how should we pronounce batting average: .400 or 400?” or “Does this or that sound better?” were group decisions. Once I finagled us “natives” a five minute break just after posing a doubt to my Korean peers about an inference question relating to population (ever a touchy subject in Korea). Proofing the test was taken very seriously, and was very detailed work.

When the group proofing had been completed, we piled into three cars and had sushi for lunch. We ate well and I kept the entire crowd entertained with my sparkling wit. Too entertained because on the way back to school, there was quite a bit of teasing about the amount of talking that I did. Although I protest to all of you that sometimes my role here in Korea and at TFLSH is similar to a court jester and that I truly do my best to ask everyone lots of questions (to get everyone to talk instead of me). After the teasing, I sulkily clammed up for about 5 seconds before reverting to form. We returned to school, did another hour or so of proofing and then the recording process began.

A table with two microphones had been set-up in the classroom, which is truly a well-equipped media lab. The Korean test sections were first recorded and sound-checked. Getting the sound right took some time but the Korean was a trooper and she got through the test with an enviable lack of fuss.

And then it was our turn. The Canadian and I sat at a table, water in reach, and began to read from our scripts with the microphone at easy chomping distance. It took some time to perfect that sound and then there were the natural reader errors. With practice, the recording process was somewhat smoothed out, but it was rare that we nailed a question perfectly on the first try. It was rather grueling for all involved: our engineer (my hard-working Koran guide teacher), our proof-readers (fellow English teachers), my Canadian peer and myself. And I cracked first. We had closed the classroom windows in order to shut out neighborhood sounds and as a result the classroom began to get warm and the words on the page began to blur, which didn’t enhance my ability to read the words from the page, let alone twist my tongue and vocal cords into comprehensible language. Also, some of the test language remained unnatural, which made it that much harder to read the test word for word. My Canadian peer rarely made changes to his script but I have a habit of editing as I read aloud (and reading aloud while I edit) and sometimes I’d make a change without consulting the test writers. Amusingly, my errors (edits) would result in a spate of Korean - but I won all but one of those changes. Towards the end, I simply pre-empted this discussion by making the changes up front, which helped. All and all, the recording went well and with the remaining work being the editing and test printing, we again piled into cars for dinner at around 8 pm.

We went to a Korean restaurant and shared another lovely meal, although shoulders began to sag and smiles were rare. After eating our fill, we returned to school and us two natives were locked in the dorm just after I rather annoyingly developed a need to call my British co-teacher (regarding tomorrow’s adventure). After the dorm doors were locked, I found myself pacing, my words echoing through the empty halls while I was doing the forbidden: talking on the phone. The Vice Principal’s cell phone. (grimace) And I kind-a ran down the battery. (Big grimace). This entire situation is surreal.

Anyway, midnight is now approaching and I’m seated, cross-legged, on the floor of a 4-bunk-bedded room, nicely warmed by the Korean “ondol” flooring. The Canadian is asleep, I’m getting sleepy, and my Korean peers are still hard at work on the listening test, so, yes, I’m still trapped. If there is a fire, I could be in trouble. But listen, you don’t have to call the US Embassy. Or if you do, assure the embassy that I sound well and as someone is already scheduled to swing by and give a talk at our school this week, surely you could talk the embassy into an opening dialogue with the school insisting that I get a shower and change of a change of clothes before that important person visits?

Sending all my love…

Laura

PS: When sequestered there was also no Internet access, so I’m posting this entry from my apartment, after the test was conducted. All’s well that ends well, although predictably I didn’t sleep well last night because of the strange situation, the strange bed, and because the Vice Principal’s pre-set cell phone alarm awoke me at 4:50 am. Hmm... actually, if you are planning on calling the embassy on my behalf, please finagle me a shower and some extra sleep time…

Dear Family and Friends,

And there's more! Click on this link. On the top of the screen, click play and several Chuseok-related pictures will appear. You will see:

*Song Pyun Rice cakes: the outside is some-sort of rice dough and the inside is some-sort of bean paste. Although the American palate rarely gets excited about these two tastes - let alone combining them - these cakes are yummy.

*Chestnuts: are very popular here. Chuseok chestnuts are peeled and served raw although generally chestnuts here are roasted by street vendors and sold for 3,000 Won - almost making a cuppa of Starbucks seem reasonable. I can give or take roasted chestnuts but I seem susceptible to the combination of chestnuts + cajoling. My first purchase of roasted chestnuts was from a street vendor whose "do you want to buy some roasted chestnuts?" was very good; however, I soon discovered that this phrase was the only English he knew! But his smile toothless smile was adorable and the chestnuts were not bad either...

*Green Onion Pancakes - Pajon: Koreans batter and fry vegetables into pancakes. The most popular of these cakes is the green onion "pajon." My first taste of "pajon" included sliced octopus, which escalated the cakes’ mouth-watering properties. Similar cakes can be made with zucchini or white fish. I know that pajon sound too weird to be good - but they are absolutely delicious.

*A traditionally dressed Korean lady: she is dressed in "hanbok," which for ladies is a silk bolero-style jacket and long flowing skirt. The male hanbok is comprised of trousers, a vest, and an outer coat. Every day use of the hanbok has disappeared; however, hanboks are still worn for special occasions such as weddings or Chuseok.

*A HUGE full moon: Chuseok is celebrated on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month and the full moon on this day appears in the sky as the largest full moon of the entire year. I was skeptical of this fact until I clapped eyes on October 6th’s full moon. It was huge and beautiful. My camera could not do it justice. The moon reminded me of reminded me of the movie “Moonstruck” and I said aloud “che bella luna” – which sounds even crazier in Korea than it does in Seattle or New York! And it was bella, bella, bella!

*Apples: Korean’s peel grapes and pears and apples too. I've determined, but not yet confirmed, that that this behavior must be cultural. And I’ve decided that the climate surrounding Daegu is comparable to Yakima, Washington. [dryly] Oh, I know! Goody, goody! Apparently it gets really cold and really hot here. Besides alleviating seasonal boredom, the only positive side that I can see to extreme temperatures is that the fields yield sweet mandarin oranges, globular grapes (if you don’t mind peeling them), and delicious apples. It seems natural to include apples during a harvest festival, no?


Now scroll down on that same page and examine the picture of the Chuseok ceremony table. More on that later...

Anyway, are you beginning to get an inkling why Chuseok is going to be hard for me to explain? And yet, Chuseok is a big deal in Korea; which, in my opinion, made it doubly surprising that North Korea started making nuclear threats during the Chuseok holiday. As those poor nuclear program workers likely missed out on pajon and raw chestnuts and rice cakes, I hope that the North Korean government was kind enough to at least pay time and a half! (yeah, fat chance!)

Anyway, Google put on hanbok on for Chuseok – and briefly, so did I. Pictures to come...

Love,

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Several times in passing I’ve now mentioned that I was on school holiday due to Korea’s version of Thanksgiving: Chuseok. Enjoying the holiday was easy; however, I've determined that explaining Chuseok (also spelled Chusok and pronounced /chew sok/) is beyond my capabilities. The following is “a background essay” by Eun Mee Kim.

Chusok: The Korean Thanksgiving

Chusok, Korea’s annual thanksgiving holiday, is one of the biggest migration events in modern Korea. Over half of the population visits families and ancestral graves during the three-day holiday, which usually falls sometime in September or October. (Note: on the Lunar calendar, Chusok falls on August 15th.)

Families living in big cities like Seoul or Busan or Daegu create a massive exodus by car, express bus, train, airplane, or ferry. There are long lines of cars leaving major cities on the days preceding Chusok, causing massive traffic jams on the freeways and major rural routes. In 2006, it was reported that the usual 5-hour car trip from Seoul to Busan took as long as twenty hours!

Festive occasions, such as Chusok, demonstrate the importance of family to Korean society. Family members, usually from the paternal line, get together to prepare food, honor their ancestors, and cherish relatives, both living and deceased. Chusok is a reminder that families are connected and bonded in the same fortune and ancestors live through the offspring as part of people’s daily lives.

Holiday festivities begin many days before the actual holiday, as women busily prepare food to be put on the ancestral plate for the Chusok ceremony. They begin preparations for the festivities weeks in advance by going to the market to buy the newly harvested rice, apples, crisp pears, juju beans, chestnuts, sesame seeds, pine needles, and so on. You might wonder why people need pine needles. Koreans, like many people from traditional cultures around the world, celebrate holidays with special food. Pine needles are an essential ingredient of the Korean rice cakes called song pyun. These cakes are made with finely ground new rice as the basic dough, which is filled with toasted sesame seeds, chestnuts, or peas sweetened with honey or sugar.

Making song pyun is one of the most festive activities associated with Chusok. Several generations of women work in a big circle over bowls filled with glutinous rice dough and many wonderful fillings. The song pyun are then carefully arranged between piles of freshly washed pine needles in a huge steamer. The pine needles prevent the sticky rice cakes from clinging to each other and most of all infuse the whole house with the wonderful smell of pine trees.

Grandmothers speak gently about the days when they were young, making song pyun, and tell their granddaughters, “Girls who make pretty song pyun will have pretty daughters!” Making song pyun brings together generations of women and gives them an opportunity to share their life stories. This took place more often in traditional Korea, when at least three generations lived in the same household. Nowadays most families are nuclear, and thus Chusok provides an opportunity for different generations to interact and appreciate their extended family. However, fewer and fewer people know how to make song pyun or other traditional foods. Instead, they buy prepared or packaged foods in supermarkets and department stores.

On Chusok morning the family carefully prepares the ancestral table for a memorial ceremony. The house of the eldest son is usually the site of the gathering. Family members arrive early in the morning to participate in the ceremony. The eldest male descendant from the line of eldest sons (even if he is not the eldest male in the family) usually presides over the ceremony. There are many rounds of bowing to the floor from a kneeling position, and ancestors are offered wine and food. After the ceremony all the food is taken out of the room and rearranged for the family to eat. The family sits around the table to eat the wonderful food prepared by the female relatives over the past few days and reminisce about the ancestors. After the meal some of the food that has been set aside is taken to the graves of the ancestors.

Chusok reminds us that Korea’s traditional gender roles and discrimination persist. As noted above, women spend several days cooking and preparing for the Chusok ceremony and family gathering. The men, on the other hand, relax and enjoy the festivities, and do not help much with the chores. Furthermore, since the family celebration is based upon paternal lineage, married women often are not able to celebrate with their original family. This aggravates gender discrimination, prompting some to complain openly or to disregard the tradition of Chusok altogether.

In fact, Korean families are changing. In the past Koreans lived with at least three generations in one household. Now most urban families are nuclear, with only one or two children. Because of increased educational and occupational opportunities for women, as well as financial necessity, there are many more working wives than there were as recently as twenty years ago. Women also have to work to maintain a standard of living, which was sustainable with only one bread- (or rice-) winner in the family in the past. Thus the problems and challenges facing modern Korean families are not very different from those confronting U.S. families. Perhaps the most important difference is that for many Korean families educating children is the top priority. Day care for preschool children, dividing household chores among family members, caring for elderly parents, making ends meet during periods of financial hardship, and so on, are some of the problems routinely faced by Korean families. Caring for the elderly is an increasingly important issue because most modern families have only one or two children, many married women work, and, most of all, there is a lack of quality elderly care facilities.

Some Christian denominations have discouraged or opposed the Korean tradition of worshiping ancestors or gods not connected with Christianity. Therefore, some Christian families honor their ancestors with prayers and hymns rather than bowing or offering them elaborate dishes. Nonetheless, Chusok is an important family holiday for Christians as well as non-Christians, as they all celebrate with their families, albeit in different ways.

One of the most sensitive issues facing Koreans is the division of families between North and South brought about by the Korean War (1950–53). On a family-oriented holiday, such as Chusok, this is particularly poignant. It has been over fifty years since many people have seen their loved ones, written to them, or even had knowledge as to whether they are alive or dead. This began to change dramatically in June 2000, when the heads of South Korea (President Kim Dae Jung) and North Korea (President Kim Il Sung) met for the first time in Pyongyang, the capital of North Korea. As a result, on August 15, 2000, 100 families each from South and North Korea were allowed to visit their relatives in the other Korea. Although 200 families is too few to alleviate the needs of over 7 million South Koreans reported to have families in North Korea, the August 15 event was a historic moment for the two Koreas. It signaled a giant step toward reconciliation and possible reunification in the future.

Even though many things have been changed by Korea’s rapid industrialization, urbanization, and globalization, family remains the bedrock of Korean society. Chusok is a celebration of family—both past and present.

Copyright 2006. Author: Eun Mee Kim.

Printed at: http://www.askasia.org/teachers/essays/essay.php?no=2&era=&grade=&geo=&PHPSESSID=a1fc4ca6abbacf15a029f6139f754cb0

Dear Family and Friends,

For weeks now, I’ve been craving water. I’ve craved fresh breezes. I’ve craved the sea.

My mind’s eye keeps replaying a favorite film moment in which a woman and a man converse, with brevity, on a chilly beach under gray skies, under the sound of waves, and she says…

“I like it here. Just sea and sky and…”

“…nothing.”

“I like it. It makes me want to shout.”

“Then shout.” He says.

And she does. Albeit in a repressed, British sort-of way.

Anyway, although I could make you an entire list of items that I crave at this point in my Asian journey, for me, the sight of water, breathing the air, listening to the waves, twirling and calling into the wind has been a fundamental, rather inexplicable need. I confided this need to my Korean friend one evening, who commented that she planned to visit friends in the Eastern coastal city of Pohang (pronounced Po - ang) over the Chuseok holiday and if possible, I could go along too.

So, the day after my Daegu day tour, I met my friend at the train station, where we walked up the counter, walked to the platform and boarded an east-bound train.

Korean city train stations are deceptive. They are important, centrally located, busy, efficient, and the trains go everywhere. The train stations resemble my idea of an airport and Dongdaegu Station, the Daegu train station, is as big or bigger than the Daegu International Airport. I swear it. Because the train stations resemble airports, I cannot help but expect a modicum of difficulty in utilizing them. But there is none. You tell the ticket agent the city, you specify how fast you want to go (which determines the train), you are sold a ticket, you walk to the gate, put the ticket through a machine that resembles any subway ticket-taker, walk to the platform, the train arrives on time, you board and it leaves without much ado. Wonderful.

I greatly enjoyed my window seat view as the city landscape of Daegu dispersed into fields of rice, sets of blue-tile-roofed houses, rugged tree-covered hills, rivers, and obvious farming towns – with the occasional high raise apartment building incongruous in the agricultural landscape. As the train slid toward the coast (no clicks and clatters, sticky plastic seats or open windows on this train), I began wondering where the wilderness was and realized that Korea, one of the most densely populated countries in the world (more so than India or Japan) is rather like Europe in that people have been living on and cultivating the landscape for so long that there isn’t much wilderness (as we Americans know it) left.

Upon our arrival in Pohang, my Korean friend and I and other passengers were greeted by bows from Korean Rail staff lined on both sides of the station path. I was surprised by this friendly gesture, which turned out to be related to the up-coming Chuseok. Outside the train station we were greeted by two friends of my Korean friend and we were swept away in a car borrowed especially for the occasion of our visit. Our first stop was lunch: we ate at a tofu place. It was my first meal sitting traditional Korean style – on the floor, legs crossed. My legs fell asleep. But the tofu was fantastic. In the center of the table, we boiled soup with veggies on a burner that was surrounded by numerous side dishes such as roasted fish, potatoes in pumpkin dressing (better than it sounds), various tofus, sea vegetables, not to mention rice and kimchi, of course. We ate ‘til we were full and then enjoyed little cups of sweet coffee dispensed by a machine that first dropped the cup then squirts of coffee. Right before our departure, I stepped into the lady’s room and met my first Korean bidet.

I walked into a stall and sighed with relief to encountered a sit-down toilet, although this particular toilet had odd, various colored buttons and looked a mite complicated. Not to mention that there was no obvious lever to flush with. But I did my thing, utilized my personal supply of tp (I never leave home without it!), and then turned to bend over the toilet to reason through the strange buttons in order to flush. I made my guess, pressed a button, and was surprised by a strong, warm arch of water that hit me square in the stomach. I jumped away but not before I ended up with a large wet patch on my front. Away from the water’s path, I watched as the stream hit the top portion of the door and flowed downwards to create a good-sized puddle on the floor. And I began to giggle. A lot. In fact, I never did figure out how to flush that toilet. Perhaps the gales of giggles that prevented me!

I giggled so much that I had to explain to my Korean friends why I was giggling. My Korean friend was quite amused, her friends, less so.

As the wet patch on my shirt dried, we drove away from town, down twisty roads and I learned a new word: “pada.” Sea. My friend and her kind friends were driving us to a beach and I was going to get my fondest wish: I would get to see, touch, and smell the sea.

It was a glorious afternoon. Just at the point that I began to worry about car sickness, we arrived at a white sand beach, climbed out of the car, and stood at the water’s edge for the longest time, just savoring it. Ok, I savored it. The others did too but it was obvious that this was my delight and while I didn’t whoop and shout “ahhh” (I wanted to), I immediately rolled up my pants and walked into the East Sea. (Also known as the Sea of Japan – but you don’t call it this in Korea unless you want to get hurt.) I beamed. I ahhed. I tipped my head back and felt the breeze lift my hair away from my temples. I took pictures. We took pictures. And then we took a long walk by the sea… as we strolled along, we found the beach uncrowded with people but clogged with garbage. I was surprised and snapped a picture, causing one of my Korean friends to comment how sad it was that that is what I’d be giving my friends in the US a bad picture of Korea, due to the garbage. There were large broken light bulbs (dangerous to bare souls), bottles, Styrofoam boxes, old shoes, old planters, and further down the beach there were bulldozers whose function appeared to be for burying garbage. “Burying it where?” I wondered. But I didn’t ask.

Eventually we returned to the car and then drove further down the coast, through some truly narrow lanes and down into a fishing village. We passed racks and racks of squid close-pinned to rope racks, drying in the sea breezes. We parked at the edge of the sea and stared at the horizon before ambling down a fishing pier lined with small, brightly painted fishing/squid boats, protected by enormous jack-shaped cement objects that are Korea’s version of a sea wall. We climbed onto the seawall and laughed at crabs, watched the fisherman, and enjoyed the breezes.

The companionable afternoon came to an end as the sun was disappearing into the western hills. We returned to the train station, said thank you and farewell, and the sunset turned to layers of hot pink and purple as Daegu appeared through our windows.

Happily, the desperation of my craving has slightly eased because even now, days later, I can still close my eyes and picture the sun and sand and sea.

“Pa-da… pa-dah…”

--Laura

PS: Today's pic: me and my Korean friend's friend and the jack-shaped cement seawall and Korean fisherman and Korean fishing village, the sun and the pada...

Dear Friends and Family,

My students had just begun their lesson warm-up (“with a partner, please discuss world events that make you sad”), when the alarm began to sound. My students continued their discussions while I lifted my ear from monitoring their conversations to the open windows just as the alarm again sounded, clearly coming from outside our school campus. The noise was insistent but not urgent but North Korea was on my mind and I couldn’t disguise my anxiety. Over the next noise, one of the boys grinned at me and said “don’t worry, teacher, that is just North Korea attacking.” The warm-up talk turned to quiet chuckles while I responded by rolling my eyes at him.

That is how I learned that on the 15th of every month, the South Korean army runs a country-wide, 15 minute, traffic-stopping drill every month. My co-teacher and guiding teacher’s chuckles were somewhat less than quiet when I inquired into the nature of the alarms. I rolled my eyes at them too.

This provides a quick glimpse of the nervousness that I keep tucked below the surface while providing an entrée into my classroom, my school.

My students at Taegu Foreign Language High School (“TFLHS”) are diligent and generally intelligent. They had to test into merely attending TFLHS, they attend classes from Monday – Saturday, returning to their families every other weekend. They board at school and breakfast is at 7 am, then they alternately study and attend classes until evening (sometimes very late in the evening), do “extra curricular” activities such as the school newspaper or movie-making clubs, and their lights-out bell rings at 11 pm. They are busy! And on top of that, their determined parents often pay to have them privately tutored or to attend private academies in order to further supplement their education. And as if this weren’t enough, my students are tested, tested, and tested more. I’m still examining the whys + what fors of the Korean education system but I am amazed by the amount of time that my students spend in class and studying.

My job, and that of my British co-teacher with whom I split the classes with, is to work with 12 classes of sophomores and juniors on their English Conversational skills. Our goal is to enable students to practice the production of good-quality verbal English, and to help them improve it. Our job is done best when the students move around, talk a lot, and have a constructive amount of enjoyment, which puts us in a position to be “fun” and “popular” teachers. And the excitement caused by my brand-new face and American accent has worked in my favor, students are, at the very least, not unhappy to be walk into my class. And I’m diligent attempting to fulfill all expectations: creating fun, challenging, student-based learning, adhering to the finer points of my CELTA training, and working with different discussion topics than my British co-teacher.

Class starts when I prompt “Captain?” and a student stands up and calls “Attention, bow.” All the students bow their heads and say “good morning, ma’am” – although some of them slip up and say good morning “sir” – which causes us all to giggle. I greet them and fall back on my unconsciously developed habit of telling them that I’m really happy to have them and sharing the topic of our lesson’s discussion. I’m not teaching from a book (I could, but it is crap) and I plan my lessons striving to create interesting discussion topics with varied interaction patterns. My favorite lesson so far has been about dreams: they discuss their dreams, then as a class we free-range brain-storm using Dali paintings, listen to an obscure American pop song, and then the students write and perform their own “song” lyrics. I love watching the students’ faces during the first minute of the song. I can tell from their carefully blank faces that they totally expect that they are going to be listening to a song with melodious singing, ala “My Favorite Things.” It is a sure sign that the lesson is going to go well when their fingers begin to tap to the beat, they let a smile slip at the sound effects, and look exasperated nonsensical words. And their resulting lyrics are fun. One pair wrote that they were flushed down the toilet and landed in Hawaii, several have paid back not nice-teachers in interesting ways, and today a pair made a striped horse and white zebra fall in such deep love that they exchanged stripes. I enjoy their creativity and their humor; they enjoy the instructive break from their rigorous studies.

Some of the English teachers at my school are fond of the sophomores but I greatly enjoy working with the slightly more mature juniors. I suppose this to be because in addition to my conversational teaching, I’m team-teaching junior-level English Lit/Reading Comprehension with a Korean teacher. I find this challenging not in the least because she and I are very different – the differences can be boiled down to the fact that I am loud & native English-speaking while she is not. Anyway, at first when I wanted a turn working with the students on comprehension, I’d direct questions to the unresponsive class and she’d answer on behalf of the students. Grrrr. But we’ve somewhat ironed that out and are both learning from each other. I’m learning the importance of grammar when it comes to decoding the English language and she has learned to demonstrate concepts with illustrations and use character voices when reading aloud (as I have from the beginning). One day she told me that she really wanted the students to discuss an idea. I advised that we should give them pair talk time and then open a class discussion. She told me that they wouldn’t talk. I insisted that they would. We compromised by deciding to try it once her way and once my way. We never tried it her way – after our successful class, her smile practically split her face. But good teaching moments in that class feel like the exception rather than the rule. We’re still in the process of improving (ok, who isn’t?) but at least we are both enthusiastic about the work and willing to work together. And, thank the maker, the students smile when I walk through their reading comprehension classroom door.

Besides my usual classes and reading comprehension, I’ve found myself a sometimes proof-reader, sometimes college interview coach and sometimes essay writing judge. These tasks cause extra work to be sure, but they also bring me in contact with students and teachers in varied ways and I enjoy that. Well, I do groan at the very thought of proof-reading, which is time-consuming and can be truly hard work as Korean writing skills are definitely lower than their speaking skills – and neither are truly high. Anyway, I have promised myself to work on my work/life balance this year and by staying late at school, I’m likely violating that self-promise – although right now my occasional late evenings are working because I’m enjoying them and because I don’t have a lot to pull me away from school. Also, because I get Saturdays off when my peers do not as well as unofficial paid vacation days, I feel compelled to graciously lend as-necessary assistance, even if it goes beyond work hours. And when I work late, the cafeteria serves me dinner, which gives me pleasant company for dinner and saves me dishwashing.

Thursday and Friday of this week are half days in order for us all to enjoy “the school festival.” I’m a little vague on what this entails however the first warning sign was a project to proof-read an English only play called “Snow White and the Five Dwarves.” Seven was too many characters! The next warning was an instant message advising that I had been scheduled to pose for a festival poster. That had me scurrying over to my British co-teacher’s desk to ensure that he was also scheduled to share my pain. He was. The next day we spent an hour with two students in various poses in various spots around campus. The resulting poster was one of the first to be hung around campus. Granted, I’m beyond picky when it comes to pictures of me and the likelihood in pleasing me on this wasn’t great but I must tell you all that the poster all over the school did not catch me in a flattering pose. Yesterday, I noticed a few girls giggling over it. [grimace] But festival anticipation is high and no more noises have alarmed me… and now, I must return to revising my latest lesson…

I hope you all are well…

Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

For the record, I have been writing to you all but frankly, it sucks.

In the meantime, would you like a free hug from Korea? Check out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKILQPBcVTI. The picture quality is mediocre and the film is a bit too long but this is exactly what Korea looks like!

Ciao!

Laura

Dear Family and Friends,

Yesterday, I received an e-mail titled “A Bit of Bad Luck?” that was rather to the point:

Ok, now let me get this straight.
First you visit Thailand and then there is a Coup D'état.
Now you visit Korea and there is a nuclear explosion?
What's next???

My father, a man charming to the very tips of his typing fingers, eh?

Although I categorically refuse to admit that I am a jinx, after 29 years in a region whose major border dispute involved the taxation of softwood lumber, it does seem unfortunate that I have flown off to see the world and landed in not one but two regions that have recently felt the need to air their serious political problems to the world. And please, gentle reader, please do not think that I’m anything but appreciative to be getting plenty of bang out of this adventure.

Humor aside, as you may imagine, I’ve been keeping a keen eye on the news since reading reports that North Korea planned to test a bomb. I was amused that reports said that no official in South Korea was available for comment (Chuseok is a very serious holiday here) and I wondered whether North Korea had the capacity to carry through its threat. When the Monday morning news was heavy on menace, light on action, I was hopeful. Of course, at 11 am when reports surfaced on Google regarding a 3.5 quake centered in North Korea, my hope deflated. Oh, dear. I strolled by my British co-teacher’s desk and he looked a bit shaken while I was too casual. Together we confirmed the news, with undercurrents of “what happens next?” in our voices. But here’s the funny thing: as the day wore on, I didn’t spot a discernable reaction from the faculty or from the students. Granted, my school was very preoccupied with imminent midterms (in Korea only a local bomb blast could put hard-working students off test preparation); nonetheless, there was no visible upsurge in speculative talk, no televisions tuned into talking heads discussing the latest crisis. Initially I was puzzled although by day’s end, I found that teachers and students alike had taken notice. One student poignantly told me that he couldn’t understand why the world hadn’t visibly changed.

I sympathized.

That said, despite my Korean vantage, I cannot offer you collected insight at this time. But I’d like your indulgence to express an opinion:

I think it worth noting that although the US + China + South Korea + Japan are the “big powers” in this situation, as long as they cannot collectively work together, North Korea will control the situation.

Also, I do not believe, as others seem to, that Kim, Jong-Il can be simply written off as a lunatic. A megalomaniac, yes. Wily, perhaps. Evil. Dishonorable. No doubt. And his actions are unfathomable, especially to us Westerners, to be sure.

Yet what seems obvious to me is that North Korea thought it necessary to take a seriously strong stand against the United States. That North Korea believes that itself in sufficient danger to that it must risk almost all that it has going for it: vital relations with China, a cut off from essential food shipments from South Korea, additional financial pressures, and universal world condemnation. Although the US has repeatedly assured North Korea that the US has no plans to make war and neither does the US have a strategic interest in war on the Peninsula, the North Koreans seem skeptical. Why?

As we all recall with damning clarity, President Bush said in his 2002 State of the Union address that:

“Our second goal is to prevent regimes that sponsor terror from threatening America or our friends and allies with weapons of mass destruction. Some of these regimes have been pretty quiet since September the 11th. But we know their true nature. North Korea is a regime arming with missiles and weapons of mass destruction, while starving its citizens.

Iran aggressively pursues these weapons and exports terror, while an unelected few repress the Iranian people's hope for freedom.

Iraq continues to flaunt its hostility toward America and to support terror…

States like these, and their terrorist allies, constitute an axis of evil, arming to threaten the peace of the world. By seeking weapons of mass destruction, these regimes pose a grave and growing danger. They could provide these arms to terrorists, giving them the means to match their hatred. They could attack our allies or attempt to blackmail the United States. In any of these cases, the price of indifference would be catastrophic.”

As we all know, the very moment “axis of evil” left our President’s lips, the words took on a life of their own both in the United States and abroad. No doubt, no doubt, these words and the danger behind them were especially noted by Iraq, North Korea, and Iran. Then, of course, the United States remained indifferent to North Korea and Iran in favor of attacking Iraq in March 2003. Years have gone by and here we are in late 2006. Even though we have yet to subdue the masses in Iraq, the two remaining “Axis of Evil” states have again and again defied the world community’s good opinion and have become either less secretive or more proactive, or both, regarding their supposed defensive development of nuclear weapons. On Sunday, Iran’s newly appointed Prime Ministry spokesman was busy reiterating to reporters that Iran “would not abandon uranium enrichment.” While Monday’s announcement from North Korea’s new agency stated that “… the Korean People’s Army and people that have wished to have powerful self-reliant defense capability.” (North Korea doesn’t have a great number of native English speakers to vet is press releases). So United States’ problems with North Korea, with Iran, and even with Iraq continue to escalate and to me, our world seems less stable than it was after 2001.

My opinion is that that by calling North Korea evil then subsequently ignoring the country, then half-heartedly engaging in non-proliferation talks, then attacking Iraq, then using strong rhetoric adverse to North Korea, that these actions inspired North Korea to demonstrate its villainy. On some level, US foreign policy since 2002 has resulted in a situation where, as Sir Thomas Moore says “I pray you, what other thing do you, than make thieves and then punish them?”

I fear that in the end perhaps the paranoid North Koreans are right: the US shall make them into thieves and then we will punish them. A bit of bad luck indeed. –Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Korea is alarmed by its falling birthrate - one of the lowest birthrates in the world. I cannot recall where I first learned about this phenomenon but it has been mentioned to me several times by Koreans of my acquaintance and obviously preys upon the minds of many. I note this phenomenon for you all not just because it is interesting but because my experience in Daegu seems contrary - I see children, of all ages, everywhere. In baseball parks, crying in neighboring apartments, queuing for the school bus across the street, riding bikes, suspended upon their father’s chests, walking down bookshop stairs in rollerblades (!), begging Mom for a treat at E-Mart, giggling below my window, returning from classes dressed in gray uniforms, pushed in strollers by their grannies, and comprising the noisy majority on a City tour.

Having taught on Monday, I was on holiday for the remainder of the week so on Tuesday, while Korea celebrated the founding of its Kingdom, I boarded a tour bus to participate in a “Daegu City Tour.” According to the South Korean government, due to its geographically favorable conditions, important ancient sites, and beautiful scenery, Korea’s tourist industry has been growing by leaps and bounds in the past thirty years. The government has sponsored large projects to develop the industry including updating National Parks, improving accommodations, and beefing-up tourist services. These efforts are readily apparent in Daegu, which has a large tourist information center near Woobang Tower as well as several booths at handy sites such as the train station. I am particularly fond of these tourist centers because every time I visit, they press me into accepting another copy of the city map in English, which has been invaluable. The tourism authority that publishes city maps also runs bus tour services. Despite understanding that the tour would be all Korean all the time, I was eager to partake in a tour and expand my city knowledge.

When I emerged from the Subway to join the tour on that sunny Tuesday morning, I first spotted an unfamiliar Starbucks and then located the bus. Happy to have “discovered” another slice of home, I boarded the bus with a broad smile on my face. I greeted the Korean tour guide with a “good day” so proficient that she later told me that she thought that I spoke excellent Korean, paid 5,000 Won, and searched for a seat while noticing that the bus was filled with school-aged children. A kind Korean lady in an aisle seat stood up and ushered me into the window seat next to her. I pulled out my notebook and camera, smilingly refused a cup of coffee from my seat companion, and prepared for a day of learning.

Our bus pulled away from the curb, drove two blocks and then again parked. Seriously! Why bother? Anyway, the mothers and children and me filed from the bus, walked more three blocks and just as I realized that our first stop was the Daegu Herb Medicine Market, we entered a large traditional Korean building and found ourselves in an exhibition devoted to medicinals.



The plant and animal displays were rather fascinating. We were greeted by a smiling Korean tour guide, who gave a long and what I can only surmise was an informative, talk about Korean traditional medicines and the 350-year-old Daegu Yangnyeongsi Herb Medicine Market. The adults listened attentively to the guide while the kids raced around swatting and sword fighting with brochures. I politely trailed the tour through the various exhibits, reading English placards, spotting photographic opportunities, and taking notes. Fact: medicinal materials used in Korea at the end of the 16th Century numbered 1,403. 514 of the materials were types of animals, 143 were types of minerals, and the remaining 746 were composed of various plants. I wondered how today’s medicines stalked up in comparison. At the end of the tour, I sampled Ginseng candy (yum!) and found myself resolved to learn more about Korean herbs and history.



Next we retraced our steps but by-passed the bus and instead crossed an 8-laned city street and walked to an oddly-shaped brick building topped with a Korean portico. We were greeted by a Madonna statue and trooped down to the basement, were seated in wooden pews, and talked at by another Korean guide. Because this time the adults looked like they wanted to get up and sword fight with brochures, I suspected that this talk was less edifying than the last. However, the guide finally wound down and we were lead to a little museum featuring a picture of Pope John Paul II. It had only taken me 35 minutes to realize that we were in a Catholic church. Of course, the tour meaning continued to escape me so I slipped away with the kids to enjoy sunshine on upper deck Korean portico. Several kids literally rolled on a smooth wooden floor while I tipped my head back to note the usual Korean hand-paintings with unusual Jesus motifs.



Finally, we piled back into the bus and were driven more than a few blocks. As we approached our next destination, the shy daughter of the lady next to me asked in halting English if I’d join them for lunch. The lady forcefully reminded me of one of my aunts and picturing us all at a table in a restaurant where I could pay for myself, I assented. The bus disgorged us all on a street lined with restaurants and balloon stands and I followed the lady, her two daughters and her two nephews into a park. Uh… At the gate of the park, another lady, obviously a friend, met us with a bag in over her shoulder and we all trooped around the park until we found a picnic table under the trees. Then the two women unzipped their bags and pulled out an endless array of food. Ramen cups, sandwiches, snacks in crackly packages, rolls of picked veggie sushi, several kinds of fruit, coffee, water, cider, and the lady sent her nephew to buy some fried chicken. Talk about a feast! And there were other families enjoying the holiday’s weather with feasts of their own. I was grateful for the free lunch and wished that I could better convey my gratitude, especially as I had nothing to contribute. Although I must confess that the ladies seemed happy to have me, even if we were confined to exchanging smiles and hand gestures. We ate ‘til past full, enjoyed the park setting and eventually rejoined our tour group for a walk around the park that was also a zoo.

A “Rough Guide to Daegu” written for us EPIK teachers by a Brit who has been here for a few years advised that the “zoo [is] not advised if you are an animal lover.” I kept those words in mind as we strolled through the zoo with yet another guide, who lead us from monument to monument. At one point, the kind Korean lady bought the kids and me (!) a popsicle and I chomped on the popsicle, tuned out the guide, and enjoyed warm sun on my face. It amused me to watch all the proper Korean ladies scurrying for shade while I happily solicited freckles in the sun.

The kind Korean lady tried to ask me something that I simply did not understand on during our next bus ride to a Confucian Academy. She and I took a break from our efforts while we walked up to a building that turned out to be all that one imagines to be Korean: layered roof tiles ending in swooped points, symmetrical wooden structures that are austere even while colorfully painted. Although this building had an air of abandonment to it because there was a newish, modern facility of Confusion study around the corner. A modern building to study ancient ancestor worship boggled my mind, but I seemed the only one confused by this concept. Anyway, I then concentrated on more important things: apparently the kind Korean lady had been trying to ask if I would join her family in viewing a Special Exhibition during the final stop at the Daegu National Museum. Uh, yeah.



The National Museum was hosting a special exhibition titled “Treasures from Pyeongyang” and even before belligerent North Korea topped this week’s news, treasures from this “evil power” were intriguing. The exhibit brochure informed us that there were a “total of 90 items of North Korea’s finest cultural properties, including 50 National Treasures and 11 Treasures.” ?!? My favorite pieces were a huge bronze Buddhist bell (surprise!), an intricate gilded ornament with a three-footed raven design, some lovely celadon pottery, and regal seated king statue with a coordinating cloth draped across his privates. However, as intrigued as I was by the art, it was the exhibit signage that truly drew my notice.

As tightly controlled as information on North Korea is, it is well known that in order to remain securely power, the first Northern Korean leader, Kim, Il-Sung, created a cult of worship to, well, who better than(?), himself. I’ve read that statues and pictures of the original “Great Leader” are throughout the confusingly named Democratic People’s Republic and that for generations now, the government has taught that Kim Il-Sung was a genius having invented…well, everything. North Korea is a country whose every aspect is devoted to the Kim, Il(s) and South Korea is exquisitely sensitive to this fact. Anyway, despite poor quality English, the tone of this “Treasures from Pyeongyang” was pretentious to the point of propaganda regarding the greatness of the Northern leadership. I was surprised to be witnessing this attitude on South Korean soil. But the treasures were indeed memorable, perhaps an explanation unto itself regarding the signage.

We ended our trip to the museum in the gift shop and the kind Korean Lady’s daughter gifted me with a newly purchased tassel to commemorate the day. I was touched and again wished that I could adequately express my gratitude. During our return downtown, tired children and adults alike slouched in our seats. Upon disembarking from the bus, I exchanged names and phone numbers with the kind Korean lady and treated myself to Starbucks before wandering downtown to bargain an unsuspecting street vendor into selling me a travel backpack with a 15,000 Won discount. That night I packed for my purchase for an upcoming visit with a friend’s family for Korea’s version of Thanksgiving: Chuseok.

“When whales fight, it is the shrimp whose back gets broken.” A Korean Proverb that seems increasingly appropriate…

--Laura

May 8, 2006

Korea’s Birthrate Plunges to New Record Low

The country’s birthrate has dropped to the point where the average Korean woman is expected to have only one child throughout her life. The drop is the fastest in the world. If the trend continues, the population will drop some 8.69 million to 39.48 million by 2050, from 48.17 million as of 2005, the government forecast Monday. The National Statistical Office said the number of newborns per woman of childbearing age (15-49) fell to 1.08 last year. A figure below 2.1 means the population is starting to decline.

The nation’s birthrate experienced a dramatic fall from four or five in the 1970s to 1.59 in 1990 and set a new world record in 2001 with 1.3. “If the rate continues to drop at this pace, Korea will become the lone nation in the world with a birthrate below 1 next year,” a Finance Ministry official said.

The government explained that more women wait longer to get married, mainly for economic reasons such as rising real estate prices and employment insecurity, and do not want to give birth. For the first time in the nation’s history, the percentage of women in their 30s who gave birth was actually greater than that of women in their 20s, with 50.3 percent as against 47.7 percent.

A low birthrate is a serious social problem in many developed nations, but in most of them the rate has been slowly growing since 2001. The U.S. still has a birthrate of more than two, rising minutely from 2.034 in 2001 to 2.048 in 2004, while the U.K. saw births inch up from 1.63 to 1.74, France from 1.88 to 1.9 and Germany from 1.34 to 1.37 in the same period.

This is truly an emergency [for Korea]. Who will be working, paying taxes and supporting the elderly if the birthrate continues to drop? Our economy will break down and our welfare system go bankrupt. Where eight people of working age now support one elderly person, there will be only three by 2030. By 2050, the three will have to support two elderly people.

Why is Korea’s birthrate so low? First of all, women find it hard to work and raise children at the same time. Women’s economic participation shows an M-shaped pattern, where 64.4 percent of those in their 20s work, dropping to 53.8 percent for those in their 30s and recovering to 63.9 percent for those in their 40s. That shows how many women in their 30s, forced to choose between work or children, stop working due to the heavy burden of having and bringing up a child.

Japan is doing slightly better than Korea with a birthrate of 1.29, but it still created the new post of a Cabinet secretary taking care of the low birthrate last year. It also introduced a “free birth” policy, whereby the government pays for all the costs of childbirth. The Japanese government helps with childrearing expenses for children under the age of three and medical costs for children under six. Japanese companies allow staff with children in third grade or younger to go home as early as 3 p.m., as well as providing maternity leave and parenting leave. Some companies even pay for moving expenses when their staff move near their parents so they can take care of their children.

France and Sweden succeeded in raising their birthrate again after it dropped. There is no discrimination in the two countries in terms of law and social welfare against children born out of wedlock or against single mothers, because they believe that raising the birthrate will depend on women’s willingness to give birth. By the same token, the crisis in Korea is in part due to a feeling among women that they cannot give birth in the current social and economic situation.

Our society and our businesses must change their culture from one where pregnant women or mothers are considered a burden to one where these women are regarded as a treasure to be cherished. The government must take the lead. It also needs to improve the relevant labor and civil legislation. Without a determination to change public perception, practices and laws to address the issue, we will never be able to prevent Korea’s population from dwindling.

Article(s) published by the Chosun Ilbo on 5/8/06 at http://english.chosun.com/.

Dear Family and Friends,

An itsy-bitsy, tiny weeny little problem: upon my arrival in Daegu, I did not know a single syllable of the Korean language. I had read that Korea is an insular country, that the general level of English is low, and knew that language presented an issue, although professionally this definitely works in my favor as a low English level is good for “native” teachers (we are needed). Anyway, as my world slowly began to expand beyond my apartment and the school, I learned that for a reasonable sum, the Daegu YMCA teaches a beginner Saturday morning Korean class. However, details, in English, regarding this class were scarce and my initial inquires went unfulfilled. At one point, I called the Y but no one on the other end of the phone spoke English. [grimace] Not a good sign.

Luckily, a helpful mass e-mail arrived from school district headquarters with just enough information for me to figure out how to join the class, although at that point I had already missed the first two classes. But I needed to learn the basics of Korea in order to navigate my new home, to be polite to the people around me, and I had had the realization that this would be a good venue to meet other native English speakers. I was determined to join.

The next Saturday morning, I eagerly popped out of bed (news unto itself), hurried through my morning routine of a run, shower, and breakfast, and hastened to the subway stop relatively near my apartment that I had newly discovered. Time flies faster than the subway and I’ve been surprised several times to find that it takes 35 minutes to reach downtown. My directions said that there would be signs for the YMCA but even with the assistance of a man who was happy to practice his English + Korean + map-reading skills, it took me a good 10 minutes to figure out which of the 24 exits to use. I walked up to street level, around a corner and found myself at a raggedy YMCA, walked up worn stairs, paid 80,000 Won, tried out my thank you (“kamsa hamnida”) on the giggly staff, and walked into the classroom labeled “beginners.” I was one of the first to arrive. Slowly others trickled in, even a few that I recognized from my first disorienting arrival day. We sat facing each other at long tables formed into a U-shape. Eventually a few Koreans wandered in to the classroom and one advanced to the white board and began speaking Korean mixed with English. She was easy to pay attention to not in the least because of her outfit: khaki pants topped with a short, blue knit jumper dress, a purple Henley unbuttoned to reveal an orange undershirt, accessorized with a tan headband, red high top Converse shoes, orange swingy earrings and a Swatch watch with polka dots. Amazing. I diligently took notes but understood about 15% of what she was saying. [grimace] Not a good sign.

At first, no one in the class talked with each other, so during the lesson, I kept sneaking looks around, hoping to find a friendly face. The majority of the students were female dressed in traveler-teacher chic, tee-shirts, jeans, beaded necklaces, nicely arranged hair and flip-flops. I was seated next to one of the few guys, a Brit, he and I helped each other through out the class, which secured me an invite to an after-class lunch with a group. (Hooray!). Across the tables from me was one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen in my life. His features were Greek or Italian or the like and although I wasn’t necessarily attracted, I really wanted to stare at him until I had had my fill. I was also envious of with his wife’s stylish mode of dress, which was both artistic and casual. I was seated kitty corner from an American lady, whom I had liked on the first day we met. It was her first day of Korean class too and she and I kept rolling our eyes at each other in frustration and/or amusement. During the break, I conversed with two hogwan (private school) teachers while we all used the ladies room, with its sticker-decorated squat toilet stalls and miniature sinks that necessitated squatting to use. I couldn’t call class a rousing success but I was game to return the following week.

We congregated in the hall with a few others from the advanced class, where I met up with one that I had met in passing on my first day, another whom I had seen applying for a resident alien card and a few others. We shared life stories while ambling our way to a cheap but good restaurant with sunken iron woks in the middle of the tables. We ordered chicken fried rice, not too hot please. The waiter switched on the wok, brought over chicken plus veggies and dumped them into the wok. He and we occasionally stirred the chicken with a wooden spatula, while he supplied us with kimchi, cold tomato soup, Pepsi, water, and a cabbage salad topped with an odd dressing. Soon the waiter reappeared with a plate of already cooked white rice topped with a lot of red sauce and that too got dumped into the wok. He stirred for a minute or so and we had our lunch. We enjoyed the food and the company, paid 3,000 W (~$3), walked to the bookstore to buy text books for class, and one by one parted company.

I love that bookstore; I bought a Korean cookbook too.

The next Saturday was much the same except that we went to a Chinese/Korean fusion place and our crowd was smaller. We had an excellent lunch and by the end, I had concluded that I hope to be friends with these people – and this time we exchanged e-mail addresses and phone numbers. We talked about visiting a bar the following Friday night but in the end, the idea fizzled out, especially in light of our plans for the following Saturday: an elementary school English camp.

Weeks after my arrival in Korea, I found out that I am an “English Program In Korea (‘EPIK’)” teacher. I’m still not sure what this means except that it says EPIK at the top of my contract, I was hired by the Korean government, I am paid by the Daegu Metropolitan School District, and that there are 40 or so teachers like me spread throughout the city. And hundreds spread throughout the country. Because the demand for native teachers is high, sometimes opportunities to make a little side money by teaching special classes come our way. The Daegu EPIK group had been asked to volunteer for a day’s teaching at an elementary camp and I submitted my name in order to meet people, take a crack at teaching elementary, and to make a bit of extra travel money.

So the following Saturday, I awoke at 6:30 am per usual, skipped my run and managed to arrive in downtown Daegu by 8:00 am. With my fellow EPIK teachers, I boarded a plush coach with wide seats and ascetically pleasing curtains. In good company, we chatted as our bus snaked through the hills to arrive at a school “camp” building set amongst tall, wooded hills. We disembarked, were fed, and just after the bell rang, were sent into little rooms to conduct classes. I and my fellow teachers had been given lessons plans ahead of time and promised materials; however, I quickly found the lesson plan was inadequate and taught rotating bunches of students the same teaching point a different way each time. I quickly became impatient with twelve-year-old disruptive hyperactivity and resistance between boys and girls to talk with one another to the point of resolving to fervently tell my high school students how much I love them. But the twelve-year-olds were cute and after a few experiments on how best to handle them, classes improved. My favorite class was the last class, all boys, who were rambunctious but willing and therefore fun. They were a bit sad when the bell rang and I was only a little less sad to see them file out. As we EPIK teachers were lined up to be photographed for posterity (or more likely to please the parents), I resolved to do some reading re: elementary class management before putting myself and the students through that exercise again.

After our bus arrived back at Daegu, we teachers took ourselves to the ex-pat hangout: the downtown Daegu Seattle’s Best Coffee. I believe that I need to go into detail about how walking into Seattle’s Best was a bit like returning to the mother-ship for me. But this was the biggest mother-ship I had ever been in: 3 stories high, 6 rooms to sit in and all of them pretty darn full. I ordered an iced green tea thingy covered with whipped cream and made a lot of “hmmm sounds” as I worked my through it. We enjoyed our treat and then a group of us girls went shopping and to have pedicures. Good times.

Due to Chuseok there was no class this last Saturday and I shall miss next Saturday’s class because I plan to visit Busan. But I’ve actually begun studying Korean on my own… wish me luck.

Annyeong-hi gyeseyo (this is good-bye to the person staying).

--Laura

Dear Friends and Family,

Near sunset one Friday night, five women fled the responsibility of being teachers, piled into a car, and magically turned into a bunch of giggly, hair-flicking girls. As we wove the streets of through Daegu, Chinese scattered with Korean could be heard from backseat, while English dominated in the front. We parked in a dusty soccer field, pulled our handbags and ramen cups from the car and strolled, hand in hand, to the baseball stadium. The Championship Samsung Lions were warming up to play their main rival, the Hyundai Unicorns, and we were there to take in the action.

Outside the stadium, street vendors were promoting their inflatedly-priced wares, including boxes dinners of fried chicken, meat roasted on spits, roasted corn and other foods. I spotted the usual baseball caps and tees but unusual to me were sets of hard, inflatable bat-shaped toys – that my friend informed me were clapping together at exciting moments. We lined up to pay 4,000 Won (about $4) each our tickets and strolled into the stadium to select our seats.

I’ve always loved the pre-baseball game feeling of making our way through concrete hallways, up darkened stairs and stepping into brilliant light to find a green baseball diamond spread at our feet. I find that there is a magic to this moment and Citizen Stadium in Daegu proved no exception. As we emerged, I swung my head from side to side, avidly noting the similarities and differences while my friends decided which seats would be best. We seated ourselves on the third base line, just behind the home team dugout topped with fenced off newspaper reporters, who alternately typed on their laptops and shot game photos with long lenses, and television cameras. Not long after we girls settled and were passing bowls of spicy rice cakes in red sauce (I know this dish but am yet uncertain how to spell it!) and long sushi rolls with pickled veggies & tuna fish, four plump mascots made their first appearance and the first pitch was thrown at 142 kilometers per hour.

An immediate run was scored by the opposing team during the top of the first, while I learned that baseball games in Korea are much the same as their State-side counterparts, with exceptions. Pitchers throw a max of 3 strikes or 4 balls, 9 innings are played, there is one umpire per base, there is a crouching catcher, and there are 4 infielders and 3 outfielders. Vital stats such as batting average, RBIs, homeruns and ERAs are flashed on a big screen with posed player pictures. Star players are greeted with applause and the audience gasps at any hit that remotely resembles a homerun. Amusing music is played, fans cheer and chant. Coaches use hand signals. On the mound, pitchers take the time to contemplate each pitch. Batters hit into double plays. Homeruns are wildly cheered. Rivalry spices up the games. Besides the fact that every person and word around me was Korean, I was perfectly at home, sitting beside my new friends, eating with wooden chopsticks, watching my favorite game.

And yet, I could only keep a cursory eye on the baseball because I was fascinated by my surroundings. My eyes wandered the stadium, which was a great less flashier and had approximately one third of the seats than our stadiums in the States, by my estimate. Run-down ladies in aprons slowly wandered through the stands with one plastic bucket brimming with dried fish and crackly packages and the other with iced juices and beer. Cheerleaders, with amazing shiny hair that was mirrored in their blue satin outfits, lead cheers and provided entertainment during the breaks. And there was the usual assortment of fans: the passionate, the disinterested, dating couples, and men in business suits. But the majority of the audience was actually comprised of husbands and wives and their children. There were kids everywhere. The most noticeable were the just-past toddler aged kids who couldn’t keep still and instead raced around empty seats, ducking or jumping or playing peek-a-boo. A little girl in pigtails and 3 sparkly barrettes was completely fascinated by me… she kept coming to stand near my head until I’d turn around to smile, which was when she’d run back to her mother. Most Korean toddlers react to me this way. Anyway, the children were adorable and I thought it quite wonderful that baseball was a common family activity versus an expensive outing.

Time flew by. At one point I returned my full attention to the field and was startled to realize that the man at bat wasn’t Korean. In fact, with a paunch like his, the guy had to be an American. And once I spotted him, I realized that the man pitching to him was also not Korean. I immediately became curious as to why these men ended up playing baseball in Korea: how did they end up here? Did they like it? Had they adjusted to Korea? Did they have problems playing on a team while not speaking the language? Do they like Korean food and culture? What did they think of Korean baseball? What were their lives like? Did they have Korean wives? I was fascinated by this line of inquiry and mentally began writing a request to interview a player until I became conscious that curiosity and a Western appearance alone wouldn’t get me an interview. Hmm…

Anyway, the game did not go well for the Samsung Lions, the home team. As more and more children sank into sleep against their parents, it became apparent that the score of 0-8 was not going to be recouped. In the bottom of the ninth, we girls returned to the car. As we slipped on our teacher mien and returned to school, I couldn’t help ask: “when can we go again????”

Chaaarrrrrge!!!!!!

--Laura

PS: A night later, I had an accident. In a fit of illogical cleaning, I deleted all the pictures that I took at the game and the day after. Today's pic is thanks to http://www.blue-worlds.com/zboard/data/article/1100320615/IMGP5725.jpg.

Dear Family and Friends,

Although the standard definition of “hooky” is absence without permission, one Tuesday I was informed that my presence was unnecessary the next day. Awaking to school bells the following Wednesday morning made me feel giddy with guilt - as if I were a kid playing hooky. I pulled on jeans, pulled out my city map, turned my back to school and walked to the subway. The time had come for me to determine the layout of Daegu for once and for all and I knew exactly where to go: Woobang Tower.

I am constantly lost in Daegu. And I don’t like it one bit. My navigational abilities are generally based on above-average landmark recall; however, here I am frustrated at every corner as one building visually blends into another, as one tree-covered hill looks just the same as 10 others, and taller buildings do not scrape the sky. Apartment complexes are everywhere and differences between each are too subtle for my usually discerning eye. Nearly 3 weeks into being continually lost, my next hope was to spend some quality time examining the city from above. I hoped for mountains, bodies of water, noticeable buildings, discernable building patterns… really, anything memorable would do.

Happily, there is one landmark in the city that is easy to spot. Pronounced “woo – baaan,” Woobang Tower is surprisingly akin to Seattle’s Space Needle. A space-age looking-landmark flanked by an amusement park, there is an observation level with a 360 degree view of the city and you even may dine in style at a mediocre restaurant in its top. Sound familiar? Anyway, locating the tower from the subway was easy. Getting to the top of the place, not so easy as there were few English signs and fewer English speakers to point me. I walked up a steep tree-lined street and upon arriving at the building’s first level, through a series of Korean, English and gestures, I learned that ticket sales were in an obscure corner on the forth level. Then, due to a miscommunication with the ticket seller, I purchased 3 tickets, questioned the expense with friendly finger pointing, was refunded my purchase before I re-purchased a single ticket to the tower observation deck.

Stepping from the elevator to the completely empty observation floor was a triumph. My aerial examination of the city was not. No bells sang, no marvelous “ah hah” realization hit. As I paced from one window to the next, my eyes scanned a city of apartment complexes, low cloud and tree-covered hills, more apartment complexes, hey, more apartment complexes, squat short apartment buildings with brightly colored-water storage tanks, a western department store, downtown with a few distinguishables, and more apartment complexes. Don’t get me wrong: I enjoyed the view. But it took me a few minutes to see beyond my disappointment. I paced the entire view and then took a break by climbing an additional level to examine a lunch menu at the “78th Floor” French restaurant before deciding that a meal there couldn’t be worth my entire week’s budget and returning downstairs for an additional look-see.

The clouds had slightly cleared, as had my disappointment, and I began to see the city that I was at Woobang Tower to view. My eye first caught several impressive church steeples. Korea is a mixed Buddhist and Christian country but from Woobang Tower, there only seemed to be a heck of lot of churches. So I began to wonder: where are the Buddhist temples? If all of the temples are in the mountains (as I had read), how and where do Buddhists worship? What percentage of Koreans are Christian? How do percentages of Koreans that attend Christian services square up with other Christian countries?

Pulling my thoughts back to the Daegu spread before me and its rows upon rows of apartment complexes, I recalled my initial description of the city as “a lot of tall green hills surrounding a city that had a remarkable number of white, uniform apartment buildings that resemble cave stalagmites up-side-down.” Over my weeks here, I’ve been aesthetically irritated by the uniformity of the apartment complexes and mentally retaliating with this rather apt description. Apartment complexes in Daegu are architecturally uninspired, modern, and utilitarian. And I don’t get it. Why so many buildings? And why are they basically the same?

But up in Woobang Tower, I stopped seeing the buildings and began to picture the people living inside. I began to imagine those people preparing their children for school, descending in crowded elevators on the way to work, and wondered if the high density housing lead to complex traffic jams. How do most people get to work? Do most own cars? That lead me to next wonder, where do these people go to work? I recalled street vendors, teachers, industrial workers and wondered if Korea has a rather disparate workforce. And are there disparate neighborhoods? I hadn’t yet noticed any. And what is Korean economy based on? What jobs are considered best? What is the unemployment rate like? Do all Korean workers work 6 day weeks? How do the workers feel about switching from the 6 day work week to a 5-day week? What is the concept of the “weekend” like around the world?

All the sudden, I had many questions and few answers. As I bowed thank you (“kamsa hamnida”) to the elevator lady on the ground, as I hungrily made my way to the afore-glimpsed Western department store, and as I savored my lunch of bibimbap, I came to the realization that I would be no longer lost in Daegu when I formed more than a surface understanding of the city and the country it resides in. A cliché to be sure, yet in the end my trip to Woobang Tower yielded what I had hoped for: an idea on how to feel less lost in Korea.

Fondly,

Laura

Dawn Revisited

Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay
hawks his pretty wares
and the oak still stands, spreading
glorious shade. If you don't look back,

the future never happens.
How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits—
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours

to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You'll never know
who's down there, frying those eggs,
if you don't get up and see.

Poem: "Dawn Revisited," by Rita Dove, from On the Bus with Rosa Parks (Norton).

*******************************************

Dear Friends and Family,

The vigor of Rita Dove's words always inspire me to shake a leg and rise in sunlight... hence dawnrevisited.blogspot.com.

My apologies for the long silence. I am in good health; I've been hesitant to write about Korea and recently have replaced writing with friend-making. However, I have returned to pulling out a notebook to scribble blog notes - a sure sign that there will be more here soon.

Please don't give in on this blog... I haven't and cannot wait to tell you about Korea.

With much love,

Laura