In Country

Guess what I stared at for 14 hours.

So, I live in Seoul now.  It is a little overwhelming.  I had been looking forward and basically only thinking about comming back to this place for almost a year.  It was almost a year ago that I left my dirty, ratty apartment in Cheongju.  It has been almost a year since Vietnam ("I remember my time in 'nam") and Cambodia, Thailand, and Jordi.

In my time at home I accomplished virtually nothing.  I walked my dog a bunch of times, fell through the ice, ate some burritoes that may or may not have been over a pound, drank a bunch of Brandy with my father in Manville, and ate a bunch of Chillis.  I managed to put on every pound I lost in an impressively short amount of time. 

I am talented like that.

Anyway, here I am.  I am back in Korea.  Cheongju is gone for me, save the best tattoo choice on earth. 

I thought about writing this giant update a while ago.  It never worked out and now I have been here for a week.  So I will play catch-up with a list:

That hole is my shower.

1. I lived in a tiny dorm room with a toilette in it for a few days. 

2. Homesickness and a general totally-bummed-out / what-the-hell-have-I-done feeling hit me pretty hard for a few days.  Largely, I am blaming this on that dormitory. 

3. I also blame a dead computer battery and general inability to communicate with anyone at home for this feeling.  I remedied this by shoving my 3-pronged plug into a 2-pronged adapter and then into the wall without a ground.  So far I am still alive.

4. My school cannot be more different than my school in Cheongju.  Gone are nice family dinners and laughing and... you know, fun.

5. I met Amanda R for Uzbek food in Dongdaemun.  It turned into a boozefest for me.  When I was in Worcester I developed a fondness for a cheap Russian beer that came in 52 oz brown plastic bottles.  I liked it because they cost less than 4 dollars.  I felt infinitely trashy.  Apparently they come in glass bottles at fine dining establishments frequented by Uzbek fabric dealers.

My kitchen and TABLE!

6. As a result I couldn't find my apartment for 2.5 hours.  Memories include getting into an off-duty cab, buying a snackwrap and nothing. 

7. My new apartment is pretty grand.  There is a real neato sliding wood pannel separating the two rooms.  It makes it feel Asian, which is nice, in Asia.  Observe photos below.

8. I didn't actually bring my camera cable so I can only take photos with my iPod until I get paid.

9. I don't get paid for another month.

Ok, that's it.  Actual post to come.

My bed and chair / laundry hamper.  Also, Soju.

My TV and a dead guy.

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Indian Food and Guitars

The weeks continue to fly by here in Cheongju. Already I am approaching the two month mark and it seems as though I just touched down at Incheon the last week. This makes me happy because I came with the fear that the year would drag on in misery but it has also made me realize that 10 months from now it will have gone too fast. It seems that I have come to the age where time flies and years go on too quickly.


About a week from now, two of my best friends will arrive in the Land of the Morning Calm and begin a teaching position in the southern part of the country. They are a good three hours away but it will be a god feeling to have familiar faces in a strange place. Also it will give me an excuse to do a lot more local traveling and something to do on my birthday which is just around the corner.

Two weeks ago I was walking into my apartment building as two other non-Koreans were walking out. I must have looked like a kid who just saw a ghost. I have been in this place for over a month and I was under the impression that I was the only American here, but alas it isn’t the case.

So, I found myself sitting at a table on the patio of the restaurant down the road eating and drinking with a big group of fellow westerners that I didn’t know existed. There was Amanda from Ohio who lived in my building, a Canadian, a girl from New York, a Texan and a girl from Louisiana.

The highlight of the evening even before the Korean at the table next to us drunkenly bought us two flavors of Pringles and a giant pitcher of beer was his 8 foot tall friend in some snug shorts.

To the Canadian: Where are you from?
Canadian: I’m from Canada. Where are you from?
Korean: (pulls out imaginary machine gun from god knows where) I’M FROM NORTH KOREA!! (Shoots us all dead.)

So, while I was planning on spending the weekend writing I found myself at a birthday party at an Indian joint in Downtown.

The last time I had Indian food was at some ethnic food festival in Cambridge years back. I felt pretty tame ordering the simple chicken curry and basmati rice, but it was delicious. It was a fairly small joint so how the small staff handled a good 15 - 20 foreigners that barged in with no reservation I don’t know. I’ve worked in restaurants and anything beyond 5 people sent me into panic mode.

The night wore on and we went first to a place called Seduce which for some reason had it decided that those out drinking on a Saturday night in Korea must want to watch Ghost Whisperer starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. From here we went to a place that gave us bowls of Orville Redenbacher popcorn and shots that tasted like some sort of tamed Goldenschlager that appeared to have some sort of brain in them. They tasted fine but there is something unnerving about taking down a glass of something nobody can identify.

Here, the party began to break. I remained for a while longer only to enter the hell that is Frog Rain. The place had one thing going for in that for 10,000W ($10ish) you could have all the beer you could drink. In another place that would be a dream come true, but the place had some of the strongest strobe lights I had ever seen which totally screw up my vision. Besides, the floor was sticky enough to pull your shoe right off of your feet.

So, I left. Still, I was happy to have some social interaction that didn’t rely on the simplest English or kids who do not know what I am saying.

In other news, I now have an air-conditioner which is amazing. I also bought a pretty acoustic guitar yesterday. It needs some work as the action is pretty painful but I am happy with it. Also my heater is busted so I haven’t had anything but a freezing shower in 4 days.

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Humidity

The weather in Korea is becoming exceedingly hot. It is not even mid June but already temperatures are hovering around 90 degrees. What is worse than that is that a humidity hangs about that I am not used to. Weather extremes were always a point of pride for me as a resident of New England with often brutal winters (ice storms that change the landscape for years) and summers were generally hot as hell thanks to the humidity. This humidity, though: good god.


I was told upon moving into my new apartment that I would soon be purchased an air-conditioner but to this I shrugged and told my director not to worry too much about it. I hope he knows that I was just being polite because official summer has yet to even arrive but my apartment is unbearable.

I leave my sliding door open when I am home and that seems to work well enough to steal an occasional breeze to circulate stagnant air. However, thanks to crappy wiring, the screen does not seal firm against the door so any bug clever or lucky enough can fly in unabated. To my luck, a smallish spider has set up watch at the to of the opening so that I have not seen more than one elaborately marked moth and one mosquito (who pent an entire night biting me, little bugger).

For a while, when I was at school I would close the window in an effort to keep the heat out. After today, I will not do this anymore. Frequently, these little Korean studios develop a funky smell. It doesn’t smell terrible and seems to come and go but it’s origins have to be the pipes that carry toilet and sink water to god knows where. I do not know for sure but Korean pipes don’t seem to be as efficient at carrying away waste water. In fact, most Koreans seem to employ the “wipe and toss” method when it comes to the toilette so there doesn’t seem to be the pressure for businesses to strive for nice smelling and clean bathrooms.

Anyway, I returned to my place today and opened my door to be greeted by what might have been the smell of a hundred dying zombies. I have no food to rot and I am generally good about taking out my trash so the smell is a mystery to me. In any case, a weekend ago I walked to Uptown and purchased a boatload of incense that I burn almost constantly.

They smell like grape children’s Tylenol. I hate the smell but it beats the alternative.

Each room in school has a ceiling mounted air conditioner that is made of shiny white plastic, turns on with a chirp via one of three remote controllers. Now, I won’t bore you with details about fancy air conditioners but these things are awesome. The bigger units, for example, have several flaps that are constantly opening and closing to distribute cold air evenly. They are efficient and futuristic enough for me to pretend I am on some Star Wars space ship. Thing is we barely use them.

The school is pretty well insulated and the windows aren’t usually open all the way so the temperature is generally reasonable, but it still tends to get a bit warm and stuffy. Perhaps adult Koreans have more of a heat tolerance than I do but that has yet to be picked up by the kids, particularly the Three Monsters.

Classes with them have become more and more difficult, though just as hilarious. Every class that I sit in with Han teaching involves her having to force them to do anything but lay their heads on the desk and every other word out of their mouths is “ice cream?”

For a long time they demanded that Han bring them ice cream. When that didn’t work they tried their hand at extortion.

“They told me that if I brought them ice cream that they would behave for the week,” Han told me.

So, she brought them ice cream that they devoured. They then welched on their end and went back to being little monsters.

“They tell me,” Han said, “that the ice cream was not delicious enough.”

The Three Monsters have become so desperate that they no longer ask Han to bring them ice cream, only that she end class a bit early so they might go out and buy their own ice cream.

This doesn’t usually happen as it is hard to get through any material when you have three boys screaming ice cream at you. The goofier one (the one who tied his hands together with balloon ribbon) took things into his own hands.

A week ago one of the AC remotes went missing. It wasn’t a big deal but we were left having to look for the remaining controllers whenever we wanted to turn on the air conditioners. Assumedly, the missing remote was beneath papers or books in the corner of one of the offices.

Today I was sitting in with the Three Monsters before Han came to class. It was stuffy and Han had already refused to turn on the air conditioner. I watched as the goofy one pulled the missing remote from his pocket and turned it on himself. Turns out he had been doing this for the past few days whenever he felt it was too hot to effectively give you a headache.

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Busses and Quizzes

The general layout of things.

The new apartment is fantastic. It has a more separated and natural layout. The kitchen is a bit more spacious and the bathroom is awesome. The walls and floor are laid with green tile meant to look like marble and it is much bigger than the last one which makes showering a bit easier given that the shower is just a hose pinned to the wall. The main living space has a much bigger fridge and even includes an actual freezer. What’s more is that inside the freezer is a big heavy bag with the picture of a cow and nothing else. The floors are made to look wooden, though they are still made of a sort of soft plastic or rubber. I even have a couple of closets!

My lovely bathroom.  Ignore the
Urkel style.

There are two problems however. The first is that when I close the sliding, foggy glass door between my room and the kitchen and then try and turn on the kitchen light in the dark it looks absurdly creepy and each time I think I see the girl from The Ring. Also, the bathroom sink’s pipes aren’t actually attached so that whenever I run the sink the water just pours out in the general direction of the drain. Oh, another issue is that I have no idea how to heat the floors, but this won’t be an issue until fall as it is starting to get pretty muggy.

A big plus is that this place is directly across the street from my school, so my commute takes about 40 seconds.

After much trial and error I figured out what was wrong with the computer, or rather what was wrong with me. The converter was unnecessary and was preventing enough wattage from getting to the computer; now all it takes is my cheapo adaptor plug. I should have brought more adaptors because as it is only one thing can be plugged in at a time.

Days at school pass by quickly. I get by on a lunch and dinner of rice, a platter of side dishes, a few slabs of spam and occasionally a cold chicken nugget. One thing I must say is that their ketchup is refreshing. For one thing they put it on the last things you would expect anybody to put ketchup on. Spam and sausage, for example, are always eaten with ketchup. Also, it has a much bolder flavor than our own being fortified with a heavier dose of garlic.

The view from my window.

On my first Saturday I walked out my door armed with a list of phrases written in Hangul that would get me to a bus station and then to Cheonan where I would be met by Larry. After, I would be taking part in a pub quiz in an expat bar called Adonis.

There could have been many reasons why I couldn’t get a cab to stop for me. It could have been because I was a foreigner and would be more bother than I was worth, it could have been because I was holding a piece of paper and they knew they would have to decipher from it what I wanted, it also could have been because I was holding my Lonely Planet guide to Korea and nothing good ever came from picking up somebody holding one of those. Whatever the issue, it took me 30 minutes to get into a cab.

I handed the cabbie my paper and assumed it would be a quick and quiet ride. Instead, he began asking me questions to which I just stared at him in utter fear. I said “bus terminal” and he said something impossible for me to understand. After this we both fell back on the idea that if you kept repeating the same statement over and over and louder and louder that it would break a language barrier. It doesn’t.

He drove aimlessly as I called Han and Boram, neither of whom answered. On a small road I called Albert as a last resort. I handed the phone to the driver and they had a long conversation with much laughter that could only be at my expense. After hanging up, the driver looked at me, smiled and said: “Tough driver!”

How I survived the ride is beyond me. He drove at speeds that exceeded even those of the other lunatics that occupy Korean roads. He would sometimes take the trouble to roll through red lights, but would generally just swerve around cars that actually stopped. At one point he took a left in front of 3 lanes of oncoming traffic and then cut in front of a city bus as he settled onto the new street. All the while he kept repeating the words “tough driver” with pride.

Interesting fact about Korea. Almost everybody has a suped up navigational system, and almost all of these are equipped so that they can and do watch television on them. It is horrifying.

So, finally we arrived at the bus station. No sooner had I gotten out of the car when I got a call from Albert. Albert, worried about my general incompetence, had just arrived at the bus station to ensure that I was put onto the appropriate bus. My self -esteem to say the least was on a downward slope.

The bus station was like any bus station in any country in the world. Albert got my ticket and escorted me to the line of people waiting beside the bus to Cheonan. There we waited for a time and Albert would not leave my side, only asked the driver if I might be let on early because I may be capable of somehow screwing that up.

Ten minutes passed and I was soon sitting in my seat watching Albert smoke his tiny cigarettes. A second later he was back on the bus and asking a 10 year old kid to make sure that I got off the bus when it arrived at Cheonan. Albert then patted me on the shoulder and gave me a coke. My self-esteem was somewhere south of Hell.

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The bus ride was great. I am a fan of slow speed transport and have always looked at bus rides as a great way to see a place if you are on your way to another place. I have taken busses across Mexico, to Canada, and from Athens to the edge of Albania and I often find myself too mesmerized to sleep despite utter exhaustion. This ride was no exception.

The land between Cheongju and Cheonan is rural. There were sparse villages and sloped tile roofs. Rice patties dominated the way, but every now and again there were the burial mounds from times forgotten or never recalled in Western memory.

Downtown Cheonan is massive. The bus station quickly becomes a four-story shopping center with a food court and cinema on top. I wandered for a time while I waited for Larry. Upon walking into the food court I remembered that I was starving and that if I was going to have anything to drink at all I needed food, or else I would be barfing after one beer.

There were so many options that I am ashamed that I fell on the American comfort food that is McDonalds. Please, please do not judge me too harshly: I was starving!

I sat alone, the only non-Asian in the place eating a Mc. Chicken and fries. I was fully aware that if there were a decent photographer present I would wind up in some article critical of fast food imperialism and our unwillingness to adapt to another culture.

After, I sat on a bench outside of the complex and watched people cross the street. This was something to behold. Koreans obey crosswalks and pedestrian signals as though they would be thrown away for life with no parole if they jaywalked. They will wait at the corner regardless of the fact that there are no cars coming.

When they do cross, though, now that is really something! By the time the cars stopped and the cross walk opened up there had to be over a hundred people going to opposite sides. It looked like two enormous waves crashing and breaking into one another.

Eventually, Larry and a friend found me and we were waiting for a taxi while he spoke to an American guy and his sister. A short cab ride took us to the suburbs of Cheonan: the domain of Larry Boire.

The drinking began instantly and I was thankful that I at least had a stomach full of Mc. Chicken. While Larry set off to make final arrangements for the pub quiz, I was left in the company of the first native English speakers I had met since home.

We sat around on the floor and played drinking games with orange juice and soju. We played a game I used to play a long time ago in an East Boston apartment off of Maverick Square and they all reminded me of old college friends who are lost now to life in time. They told me how bizarre it was to speak in proper sentences with adjectives after trying to speak simply to Koreans. Before we left we played poker with a big pile of cigarettes in the center of the floor and I felt like I was in prison.

The pub quiz at Adonis was something else. I came to Korea so that I might experience another culture for a year and that I might come away from it a little richer emotionally and monetarily. It is important though to take a breather every now and again. It is perfectly acceptable to go and get drunk with 60 other English teachers every now and again.

My team consisted of Larry’s friend CJ (actually Larry was friends with everybody) and a Canadian named Miranda. We somehow came up with the name Husky Hamsters. We also lost horribly, but I guess that is not really the point now is it?

We drank and drank and all became friends or at least something like it. Miranda was finishing up a job and would be on to at least another year in Korea. CJ was looking for another teaching job. I stepped outside with everyone else for a cigarette.

I remember talking to a guy who looked exactly like Kevin Bacon and the Pixies started playing. Out came the guy from the taxi stand that Larry was talking to. He had been in a motorcycle accident since we had last seen him and had gotten the worst of it. His shorts were stained with blood as well as his shirt. His limbs were covered in road rash and gashes. It was pretty obvious that he needed stitches, though I found out later he would be going to his doctor in the morning to avoid an expensive visit to the emergency room. It was a shock to see.

Still, the night wore on. The quiz ended but the beer kept coming. Miranda left and Larry and I sat in a booth watching people dance or generally have a good time while we finished our beers.

We headed back to his apartment, drank a bit more and called it a night. Larry apologized for a pounding head and what was apparently an early night for this crowd. It was 4am by the time my head hit his hard couch.

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