North Korea

I've thus far avoided writing about the relationship between North and South Korea because it's daunting. Very little of my position as a guest English teacher makes me qualified to offer insight into all the tragedy and confusion, though I've recently come across several stories worth sharing. The first came about last week in a conversation with one of my co-workers. I rarely hear any of them discuss North Korea, but when they do, it's brief and their sentiments seem hazy: Yes, it's bad there. Oh well, we can't do much.

Seongsu, one of the most popular teachers in the school and the one with whom I share a classroom, relayed his connection to the North in a ridiculous exchange last week:

S: I think the president of North Korea is best.

B What?

S: Not the president, the job.

B:Seongsu, you want the job?

S: (clearly joking) Yes! 

(Conversation leads to the horrors of living there.)

B:I wonder about the families that were separated.

S: My Grandfather was from North Korea. He was very wealthy, so he could leave. He owned a cinema.

B:What year did he move south?

S: I think 1960. 

B: Your life could have been so different!

S: Yes, I could be in the military now. But maybe it would not be so different. My life is terrible now!

B:Your life now is as terrible as life in North Korea?!

S: (laughing) Yes.

He's kidding, of course. Studying for additional English certification exams has prompted his extended one-man pity party celebration. Hearing about his grandfather's move, however, drove me to find more clear stories about families who lost touch after the countries separated. Seongsu stated that he felt hardly any connection to North Korea at all, and knew nothing more of his family's situation. As one internet source I discovered noted, this kind of total separation could be the reality for nearly all of Korea within the next 5 to 10 years. 

The 2012 documentary, "Divided Families", details the situation, and the following passage from a radio interview about it summarizes the situation well:

"The Korean War in 1950 left more than 10 million people separated from their families in Korea. Over the years, the South Korean government has taken a very active and supportive role in helping to reunite families forcefully torn apart by the devastating war. Since a landmark summit between the two Koreas in 2000, cross-border family reunions have been held on-and-off for more than a dozen times, connecting approximately 21,700 separated family members. But with tensions still high between the two Koreas, the talks for further reunions have been put on hold for the time being. 

"The tragic story of separated families is not one that is limited to Korea, as many Koreans living in Korean diasporic communities around the world are known to be searching for their immediate family members in North Korea. A U.S. government report released in 2009 estimates that at least 100,000 Korean Americans living in the U.S. have family members in North Korea. My guest this week, Jieun Baek, has produced a documentary film titled “Divided Families,” which chronicles the stories of separated Korean American families. 

"During our conversation, we’ll talk about how the film has contributed to raising the awareness of the needs and challenges surrounding the divided families issue in the U.S." 

(To watch the video of this interview, go to:
 http://world.kbs.co.kr/english/program/program_seoulreport_detail.htm?No=4118 )

Below I've included two video clips from the limited series of family reunions that took place in 2009. The first video provides excellent historical context, while the second shows heart-wrenching moments from the reunions. Both are intensely painful to watch, for the unfathomable reason that North Korean leadership insists on the misery of its people.

"Korea's Separated Families" 

Source: Arirang Today

"Divided Korean Families"

Source: Voice of America

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While I was frolicking with strangely domesticated deer in Japan for my summer vacation, two of my close friends visited North Korea. Their stories go beyond my ability to relay to you. Thankfully, my friend, Paula, wrote a summary of her experience here: http://poulakell.tumblr.com/. Paula and Ciara also returned, generously, with a bottle of North Korean soju to share. It tasted uncomfortably similar to the smell of moth balls. 

To conclude with one further example of the insanity, the following photos document a few of the scenes Paula captured during the Arirang Mass Games (note: 'Airirang' is a Korean folk song and, unofficially, the national anthem). As Paula notes in her facebook photo captions, "This is the 20,000 children turning over different coloured cards simultaneously to create different images. In total, around 150,000 participants of the Arirang Mass games... far exceeds the number of spectators."

Japan and The Dong

Traveling is good. Traveling is fun. I wish a good travel for everyone. It can, however, result in certain quiet afflictions of the digestive nature. One type, in Korean, is called 변비, pronounced something like: pyeonpi. Its opposite, diarrhea, is spelled 설사 and is pronounced: salsa. No kidding. A friend of mine was alerted to this by his students, who warned, "That food will make you salsa!" My friend responded with, "Salsa?!" and broke into a smooth dance step. His students groaned, "Ohhhh no, teacher!" and proceeded to clarify the meaning.

Koreans accept discussion of bowel movements far more readily than I'm accustomed. During orientation, one lecturer introduced this video of Chan Ho Park, an MLB baseball player from Korea, as an example:

The orientation lecturer wasn't exaggerating. If you're interested in owning an adorable poop-shaped keychain, I now know where to buy one. If you want to reflect on where the bread you're eating will eventually end, I can show you the perfect restaurant in Gwangju:

Dong= Poop. Bang= Bread

Dong also means "place". Each district of a city is a dong, i.e. Juwol-dong, Bongseon-dong

Photo Courtesy of Christopher Hurst

I've also learned how to draw the cutest little poop you've ever seen. During summer camp, I peered over the shoulders of three students who were supposed to be inventing a new Olympic sport. The poster in front of them showed merely this:

"~Ass Sin?" Not quite. 

The squiggly lines at the top indicate scent only. I watched them draw this one. 

In an attempt to explain themselves, one student pointed to his friend and said, "He loves the dong! He loves it! He only wants to draw it!" Throwing up his hands and shrugging his shoulders, the friend agreed, "I love the dong!". I responded, perhaps wrongly, by bursting into laughter. Moments like this leave me increasingly convinced that I need a secret camera to record this stuff. Thick glasses with a little microphone? Maybe.

--

Sooooo... Japan. I went there. It was marvelous. And clean. And oh-so very, very flashy. The fashion was everything I hoped to see, and the sushi transcended any conception I held of what sushi could be. Floating from one historic site to the next in a cloud of magical wonderment, I concluded that I'd reached a state of enlightenment. It was, as best I could explain, also the reason why a certain regular body process had stopped completely. Though it'd occurred before in times of intensive traveling, and more than a few companions have complained of the same issue, the duration of this experience was altogether new. Viewed in the best possible scenario, this entirely unanticipated spiritual promotion was at once pleasing and terrifying.

Porta-Potties for this guy? Never.

Buddhist statue in Osaka, Japan

As nice as it was to gaze condescendingly at all the lesser beings, so tied-down by their need to schedule bathroom breaks, a sense of concern began to grow. I knew so little of the life beyond. And I'd just learned how to draw the dong! Was it now a useless skill? Ought I to stop eating too? Does a life of enlightenment offer any other benefits? At the peak of my distress, one Japanese architectural structure pushed me to the edge. Ladies and gents, meet the Asahi Building:

The Asahi Beer Hall

Tokyo, Japan

To quote from Wikipedia, "It is noted for the Asahi Flame, an enormous golden structure at the top, said to represent the 'burning heart of Asahi beer'... The Asahi Flame is often colloquially referred to as 'the golden turd' (kin no unko, 金のうんこ) and the Asahi Beer Hall itself as "poo building" (unko-biru, うんこビル) by many Tokyo residents". For a newly-enlightened being, the mocking glow of The Golden Turd from its place along the skyline proved to be too much. I bolted for the closest pharmacy where my bemused traveling companion and I poured over every box that might possibly alter my situation. 

 No English on this pharmacy shelf! 

While the boxes themselves provided little encouragement, the pharmacist's English was great. All was soon enough restored to good working order, and I felt no qualms about moving forward as a normal human being. The rest of the trip was ideal. I played with semi-wild deer, curled up in a cozy bar in the company of new friends who swapped stories in Italian, Spanish, Japanese, German, Georgian, and some English, slept on traditional Japanese tatami mats, toured palaces and temples, and seriously considered moving to Japan. 

I'm still considering it. But I'm also vaguely considering NYC, another year in Korea, and other vague possibilities that must begin to materialize by this October when I'm required to resign my EPIK contract or choose otherwise. If you know any excellent opportunities where you live for a certified art teacher who wants to pursue a masters degree in ESL, please let me know. I'm open to options.

Sincerely,
Bethany

PS- I LOVE hearing from everyone who reads this blog. It keeps me writing! Thank you!!:)

This and That

Since I'll almost certainly be neglecting this blog until September, I want to give a few updates.

I've nearly finished teaching a two-week English summer camp to a group of 10 students.
The highlights include:
the kid that brought his large pet snake for no clear reason

my students Skype chatting about Kpop, girlfriends, and their appreciation for rice with my middle school brother and his best friend

watching the boys in my class dance freely to their selection of Katy Perry's "California Girl"

and realizing that one giant box on my co-teacher's side of the room is full of white gloves and Santa hats, not textbook materials as I'd assumed. I will definitely take advantage of this excellent resource next semester.
--
The Gwangju Theatre's "Your Words on Stage" project received more script submissions than we dared to hope, and we're set to run auditions at the beginning of September!
--
Yoga teaching and training continues to go marvelously well, and I'm still scheduled to teach a class to the teachers at Juwol beginning in the fall. I'm more than a little curious to see how that goes...

AND

in little more than 72 hours, I'll be en route to Japan in search of geishas, Harajuku girls, sumo wrestlers, kabuki, and the best sushi I can afford. Photos and stories to come. :)

Dog Days of Summer

Disclaimer: If you're feeling queasy today and/or sympathetic toward animals (specifically: dogs), DON'T READ THIS ONE. I promise you a delightful post in the near future, but today's a bit messy.

--

Happy 초복 (chobok), everyone! Today we celebrate the first in a series of excruciatingly humid days by eating all of the dogs we've kept in our backyard for the past year. If backyard dog isn't your thing, you're welcome to sip from a bowl of chicken broth! I won't be doing either one, as the cafeteria staff failed to serve chicken broth and the neighbors next to my school didn't offer any of their dogs to me. The oversight is unfortunate, though I can hope to receive some consideration on the second (July 28th) or third (August 7th) hot day celebrations this summer.

If you're now feeling ill, I have a history lesson to ease your discomfort or at least distract you for the next few minutes.

Question: What did Korea look like 60 years ago?

Hint: Not like this. 

Photo Courtesy of Stewart McKay

60 years ago, Korea ranked among the poorest countries in the world, with the majority of the population surviving at or below subsistence. With the loss of more than 2.5 million civilians and roughly 90% of Seoul leveled in the Korean War, the country struggled to recover and adapt using whatever means necessary to survive. Today, Korea is in the top 20 of the world's largest economies, which they accomplished through sound governing, superhuman willpower, and some substantial financial help. As Irma Adelman, from the University of California, Berkeley, explains it:
  
"Economic recovery was slow; the average growth of per capita GNP was merely 1% per year; and   the economy was kept from collapse only through massive economic assistance by the United States. No observer of Korea's development during the last fifty years can fail to be deeply impressed by its achievements...Korea has become a developed, OECD country, with a poverty population below 10%. From a country which, in the mid-sixties, was wondering whether its per capita income would ever exceed $100 per year, it now has a per capita income of $10000."

The rate of development boggles my mind. It's hard to miss the bizarre juxtaposition of Abercrombie-clad youth walking and texting their way past groups of ajummas, who huddle on the sidewalk sorting vegetables. Even more odd: the vegetable sorting often takes place directly in front of shiny new supermarkets, which regularly crop up overnight. Since moving here, I've become accustomed to seeing entire neighborhoods transform in a matter of weeks, with the abrupt leveling of dilapidated buildings and near-immediate Grand Opening Celebrations only days afterward. Meanwhile, the ajummas sort on, seemingly unphased by the rapid change around them.

My friend, Younga, shared that that many in the elderly community grow and sell vegetables to earn pocket money; and, more importantly, pass the time with a sense of purpose. It's still amusing to imagine my grandparents planted in front of WalMart, contentedly shucking ears of corn and shouting for the attention of shoppers.

EMart's Greatest Competitor? 

Photo Courtesy of Ciara Skelly

All of this does relate to my original topic. Drastic differences in lifestyle exist between generations. The woman shown above likely lived through the war and maintains a life filled with hard work, though she's embraced the modern trends of iridescent purple coats and jet black hair dye. Koreans my age live in a world comparable to what I experienced in the U.S., complete with excellent roadways, advanced technology, and the availability of more sugary, packaged food than any person should consume. Dogs are subject to the generational differences, as well. Wedged uncomfortably between my school and a construction zone for a monstrous apartment complex rests a tiny old house, with a garden and... dog pasture, of sorts.

Once, as I watched the ten or so dogs happily wrestling eachother from the window of my classroom, my co-worker, Seongsu, stated, "You know, they will eat them in the summer". He quickly retracted his statement in response to my mortified expression, but eventually re-confirmed it. Along with many others, the elderly couple who live in the house have always eaten dogs in the summer, though all of my co-teachers are quick to assure me that they've never touched it. It's an old custom. "We must be careful not to judge them," Younga said, "but young people don't do it these days".

It took time for me to balance out my disgust. I'm not a vegetarian, so I do eat animals. Dogs are, in fact, animals. During my EPIK teacher training, I heard that a common greeting after the Korean War translated to something like, "Have you eaten today?". It's not a stretch to imagine the quite recent necessity of their consumption in Korea. And, more than that, the dogs clearly lead a happy life right up to the end. Had I not watched the sobering documentary, "Food, Inc.", about the American meat packing industry, I might have touted the superiority of how livestock are treated at home. Instead, I'm acutely aware that this situation just may be more considerate than the meat that comes from Hormel or Tyson.

Still, I won't be eating dog, along with the rest of my generation in Korea, and I prefer to remain partially oblivious to the exact procedures taken to supply my diet with meat (kidding. This makes me want to take more responsibility). Koreans do differentiate between pets and the dogs that are consumed on Chusok, but I feel ill at ease when strolling past a sophisticated animal hospital and grooming salon on this particular holiday. 


In school, Younga asked me, "You've heard about 'The dog days of summer'? To beat the heat, we eat some kind of stamina food. There is a saying, 'We beat the heat using the hot food.' The older generation eats dog and we eat lots of chicken". If chickens ever wise up and become better pets, we'll have an even greater moral dilemma on our hands. We eat a lot of chicken.

--

As always, I welcome your comments, corrections, and suggestions. I know this topic is more loaded than my usual subject matter, so you're very welcome to share your thoughts.

For more information on the state of Korea after the war, check out these references:

http://are.berkeley.edu/~irmaadelman/KOREA.html

http://www.asianinfo.org/asianinfo/korea/economy.htm

http://www.history.com/topics/korean-war

Bigeumdo Video

I have some ridiculously talented friends. Another EPIK companion, Corey, just finished a video that blends his island bike trip with the recent heart-shaped beach trip to Bigeumdo.

It's so beautiful that I'm in danger of watching it on repeat and accomplishing nothing this morning.
Enjoy :)

The Food Network? What?!

Pop Quiz: Who designed the posters for the Tony Award winning musical "Avenue Q" and worked as the Art Director for The Food Network for the past five years?

Answer: Gwangju's one and only Rani Cheema! 
Rani and I met during EPIK training in February, and she's loved by everyone here for her boundless energy and enthusiasm. Curious to hear more about her pre-EPIK experiences, I figured that donning a pair of headphones and doing a public radio interview would be the best way to go about it. Follow the link below for five minutes of good fun, Bethany and Rani-style:
http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/16900822/RaniArtInterview

You can also view Rani's work at http://ranicheema.com/.



Rani!

Here, I hold a post-interview pose with the GFN director and head reporter. There was one like this of Rani, too... but it's blurry. whoops :P

Heart-Shaped

Whyyyy can't I be a sun goddess? In Korea, it's desirable to be glowing white. Though I enthusiastically welcome the chance to put on shorts without feeling condemnation for the translucency of my skin tone, I've discovered that Korean cultural standards are more considerate than the Korean summer sun. To put it clearly: I'm so burned my ankles are swollen.

If I'd taken the hint from the scores of ajummas* who tread the streets wearing nothing less than massive visors, sunglasses, gauze face masks, head-to-toe lightweight clothing, and umbrellas, I might have been spared from my current agony.  Instead, I chose to frolic freely from sunup to sundown on a private heart-shaped beach with my friends, wearing only a swim suit and three layers of 30 SPF. It was totally insufficient, and I'm left with the glistening memories of Bigeumdo Island and some mustard colored sunburn gel from the pharmacist to comfort me.

I grew up in western Pennsylvania, where a day at the man-made lake owned by Moraine State Park most closely satisfies the definition of A Beach. Floating in a 30ft by 20ft roped off section of murky waist-deep water beat swishing around in a plastic backyard pool, but I appreciate Pennsylvania for reasons other than the summer swimming options. The people are nice and I'm related to most of them. Additionally, we have nice farmland.

But with no community pools near my home in Bongseondong and a culture that rejects tanned skin because of its association with the working class, my expectations for discovering any calming place to swim this summer hovered near zero. Just as I'd resigned myself to dreams of future tropical excursions in southeast Asia, I learned of Bigeumdo Beach. Located around an hour by ferry from a nearby town called Mokpo, the location fit for an uncomplicated weekend trip. Facebook messages were sent, and The Family made arrangements to spend the weekend beach-side.

-

We board a ferry early on Saturday morning and arrive on Bigeumdo before 9am. Taxi drivers escort our twelve person group in a caravan of minivans along a narrow road past salt farms and rice patties, up and up and up and around a bend where our eyes greet the distinct shape of a heart far below. The beach looks exquisite, and it's entirely ours. We spend the day gasping at the novelty of it: in our 24 hour stay, fewer than ten other people wander across the beach. It's miles from any supermarkets, convenience stores, or traffic of any kind, and it feels glorious.

After pitching our tents in the sand, we pass the time by napping, swimming, napping, repeating expressions of incredulity at our great luck, and climbing the rocky forms that provide a majestic look-out point to the ocean beyond our little inlet. It is, almost certainly, the most beautiful place I've ever visited. With my head spinning from happiness (and likely dehydration from the quickly developing sunburn), I take a third nap and then lead a brief yoga session for the group just before the sun sets.

Hours after our campfire dinner settles, we return to the water for a night swim. We're stunned. The water GLOWS, and not a little: with every splash, dense, glittering particles of light gather among the drops and fade out quickly as they return to the water's surface. For any skeptics, I assure you that our perception was clear (no, um, substances were smoked, inhaled, or otherwise ingested). I also can't prove it with a photo. The best I can offer is a link I found after returning home in an attempt to understand the dazzling vision. (Check out: http://aquaviews.net/explore-the-blue/bioluminescent-plankton-what-makes-it-glow/# ) The photos in the article fail to capture anything close to what we saw, but the statement: "WE ARE IN A MAGICAL DREAM WORLD" most honestly captures our sentiments.

It still doesn't feel real, and I'm intensely glad that it was.

I'm off for now... I have a Korean final exam to fail tomorrow. Just kidding, hopefully. I intend to make up for three months of focusing my attention on other things with a sweeping review of how to give directions, tell time, list the days of the week, and many other items I definitely don't know at the present moment.

Today is 수요일. Pronounced: soo-yo-il. I sue people on Wednesdays.
토요일 means Saturday. Pronounced: toe-yo-il. I paint my toenails on Saturday.

I'm so ready for this.

Love,
Bethany


*In case you didn't see the link I attached to the last post, "ajumma" is the Korean word for grandmother. Contrasting the western expectation (or maybe every place outside of Korea?) that age brings softness and fragility, the ajummas storm through the cities with a fiery boldness that demolishes anyone in their path. They also dress the same, which looks really cute... until they jam an elbow into your side to board the bus first or tear down the sidewalk as though no one else exists. If you'll recall the 'tiny linebacker' massage therapists from my jimjilbang experience: ajummas. They're lovely.

Hike it, kid.

The geography of South Korea boasts 70% mountains. Whenever I feel dismayed by the overwhelming amount of architecture that looks comparable to the Soviet bloc with infinitely more neon signage, I look higher toward the mountains that always rise elegantly in the distance and sigh with gratitude. I'd love to post a photo for emphasis, but I somehow crushed my camera last week. It was terrible anyway. Onto the next one, onto the next one.

Getting back to the mountains: I was recently pleased to learn that on every other Wednesday afternoon the head of discipline at my school drags the worst kids along with him on a hike to the top of the highest peak near Gwangju. In rain or snow, burning sun or ice storm, they hike. Though the immediate effectiveness of such a punishment on classroom behavior remains in question, I now understand what my co-teachers are talking about when they refer to a student as, "one of the ones who hikes every time". It strikes me as a deeply positive outlet for students who struggle with their behavior, and I fully support it.

Rumor states that the average number of hikers hovers around fifteen, with repeat offenders making up a solid portion of the group. I've agreed to hike with them some day in the future, with the hope of improved classroom interactions. It's my dream to enjoy the company of all of my students, so perhaps an exhausting hike will lessen the cringing feeling that alights itself in my stomach when certain students enter the room. In the event that I do go hiking with them, I'll be sure to inform you of the results. 

Since we had so much fun with links in the last post (see: Fun with Links!), I'd love to share two more. I'm certainly not the only person blogging in Gwangju, and the following posts offer excellent depictions of life in Korea.

1. This one, written in list form, provoked audible laughter when I read it. I lol'ed. You likely will too, and I recommend paying close attention to the ajumma portion. Their presence remains one of my favorite features of life in Korea.
http://partialunderstanding.blogspot.kr/2012/06/top-five-baffling-things-in-south-korea.html

2. In the second article, the author details two intensely funny scenes from recent bus rides. I had the privilege of hearing the stories in person, and his writing is so good that I couldn't resist sharing.
http://tommymryan.tumblr.com/post/24939401642/the-stone-collector


Enjoy! :)

Fun with Links!

To switch things up a bit, I have three links to share with you. I've posted them in interest order, which ranks inversely to the frequency that my voice is heard in each one.

1. Foreigner in Korea Blog
A friend just showed me this brilliant site, and my highest compliments go to whomever it belongs. It's clever and insightful and quite often totally inappropriate. If you prefer to avoid strong language, skip this one. To the rest of you, nearly every post is accurate to my experience here.
http://kikinitinkorea.tumblr.com/

2. Gwangju Performance Project Video
Some of you may have seen this on facebook already. In case you missed it, here's a supercool little video about the show I performed in. There are excellent interviews with my director, co-stars, and I show up a few times, as well.
http://www.gwangjunewsgic.com/online/2012/05/22/video-ives-just-got-to-dance/

3. GFN Radio Interview
Last Monday, my friend, Rachel, interviewed me about the upcoming theater project. Follow the link to hear us say "sooooo..." four times in the first thirty seconds (don't worry, we step it up the quality after that) in a 5 minute spiel about the project and why I value live theater.
http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/132765/Your_Words_on_Stage_?rn=2ip4byz0wybk


The images below show the recording studio and one of my latest poster designs. Look for it around Gwangju, and if you're a writer: submit your work! The Gwangju Performance Project needs you!

One of These Things

Early morning, mid week. A Google Chat message from another EPIK teacher pops up on my computer screen that reads:

"Bethany, I'm going to be on a televised game show."

"WHAT?"

"My students are on it. I'm pretty confused right now. I thought it was a radio show, but it's taped and I'm reading the script now."

"You're kidding. What time does it start?"

"1:30pm. There's a big, gaudy set and everything. I have to read the questions, and I would have shaved this morning if I had known!"

---

FAME. If I ever harbored a desire to experience life as a celebrity, my curiosity's been well indulged. After many months of this job, I continue to hear my name screamed and chanted as I walk through the school (except some clever kids decided that "Bethany" sounds like "battery" so they frequently shout that instead), people stop and stare in restaurants and on buses, I've been asked to join in photos with strangers on the street, and the ease of access to media channels continues to work in my favor. The same is true for my comrades, to frequent delight.

In addition to the opening example (which reportedly went well enough, after he recovered from the shock), another friend shares a bizarre story from his school's parent visitation day. He explains, "The principal came to my desk 20 minutes before the parents were to arrive. He told me, "Please make an announcement to the students in about 25 minutes. 'What would you like for me to tell them?'", he asked. The principal replied, " 'Just think about it'. And he walked away". The content of my friends' announcement over the school's PA system? Irrelevant. The sound of English echoing through the halls? Impressive. 

The nation of Korea invited us with the expectation that we'd speak English. Classroom English counts for the majority of it, but I've come to expect spontaneous conversations with taxi drivers, passersby on the sidewalk, and most anyone under the age of seven. Thanks to opportunities made available through a couple of friends, I also get to flaunt my native language on the English radio program this coming week, and I'm training in Ashtanga yoga to assist with an English after school yoga class at a studio near my school. There's also a chance for me to lead an English yoga class for teachers at my school, but I'll need more practice first!

Though I can't fully speak for the experience of teachers living in larger cities, like Seoul and Busan, it seems that some of the enthusiastic response to foreigners there has waned. Trips to both places produced a level of distaste even among the members of my group, as we nearly took offense to the sight of so many western-looking faces. Grown accustomed to our appearance setting us apart from everyone else on the street, strolling through a foreigner-packed area reminds us of the culture shock we're likely to experience upon arrival at home. Meanwhile, a typical week in Gwangju feels something like this:

Given the situation, I'm often hyper-aware of the way my actions represent an entire country. If I'm loud, Americans are loud. If I'm miserable at speaking Korean, Americans boldly waltz into Korea without care for one of the most valuable aspects of the culture. So when people stare, I smile, lest they think foreigners are cold and unfriendly. It feels absurd sometimes, but the effort matters.

Thanks to a few negative interactions, I'm acutely aware that making a good impression goes beyond the immediate moment. Take, for example, the night my friends and I were rejected from a club prior to entering. Swallowing the weird phrase, "NO FOREIGNERS" while watching a group of Korean people walk directly into the building felt incredibly unreal. We were dressed appropriately for the venue, no one was acting distastefully, and the determining factor came down to our ethnicity. Sometime in the past, another group of foreigners, or perhaps several, ruined it for everyone. Thanks a lot, guys.

Discrimination is unpleasant. I get it, though. Living in an intensely homogeneous society where I don't speak the language creates an immediate spotlight effect onto my very presence. Children greet me with, "Hello, teacher!", even when I'm wearing sunglasses and feeling oh-so-Korean with my new haircut and outfits. Within the same week, I can receive a discount when buying shoes because, as a Korean friend translated, I "look like a magazine picture", and can also be overcharged at a restaurant because I obviously can't read the menu. It's simultaneous helplessness and empowerment, and I've grown accustomed to its quiet tension.

Yet, until and unless I establish myself as legitimate member of Korean society, weird run-ins will continue. Basic improvements include, but are not limited to, learning the language, trying a little harder to fit in, and spending more time with Korean friends. Without that, I'll remain separated, along with my sweet group of chatty English-speakers: frequently appreciated, occasionally scammed, and most often scrutinized from a distance.

On that note... I do need to study Korean. I have a test to pass in only three weeks from now!

Much Love,
Bethany ^_^

Why Korea? Why EPIK?

Consider this potentially messy scenario: You have a college degree, massive student loans, no appealing job prospects, and a voice in your head that refuses to let you settle down until you've explored the world. It's a situation that could lead to months spent relying on the generosity of family members for housing, substitute teaching at a juvenile detention center for adolescent males, and tediously folding sweaters at Calvin Klein for eight hours a day, four days a week. Sometimes you babysit to fill the extra time, but mostly you wonder why you failed to put a little more effort into regular job applications.

um... it all worked out, okay?!

In January 2011, a Korean friend introduced me to the idea of teaching English in her home country, and I subsequently spent a couple of weeks considering it. The idea was put on hold, however, as I plunged into the chaos of student teaching, acknowledging my love for teaching art in the States, and half-seriously applying to 20 or so art teaching positions throughout the U.S. After my gleaming resume landed me two interviews and little else, Korea became my singular point of focus. I wanted to go, and I wanted to go immediately.

Earlier research taught me that hagwons (private, after school academies) allow foreign teachers to arrive in Korea at any time. The English Program in Korea, or "EPIK", which is sponsored by the Korean Ministry of Education, accepts teachers into the country twice a year: in February and August. Feeling certain that I couldn't wait that long to leave, I feverishly applied to a hagwon teacher recruiting company that abruptly vanished in mid October. It was weird and upsetting, and I realized that the safest option for employment rested with EPIK (see my later note about hagwons).

Today, I sit at my desk, listening to a sweetly accented rendition of "DO, A DEER, A FEMALE DEER/ RE, A DROP OF GOLDEN SUUUUN!" ringing down the hallway, and I'm exquisitely happy. To avoid excessive frivolity in my descriptions, I'll switch to a more useful numbered format titled:

Why I ADORE Working for EPIK

(Please note: This is not a Jumping Photo.
It's a Hovering Slightly Above the Ground Photo, a natural result of the EPIK experience)

Point of Adoration #1: I don't have to think.
Kind of. The challenges and opportunities in Gwangju that have set my brain on fire are of the life fulfillment variety, and not the basic needs kind. During every single step of the application process, orientation week, and the period of settling into Gwangju, I felt fully prepared and supported by the EPIK staff. The transition from curious traveler to established English teacher occurred with such relative ease that I still feel a little startled when I look back on it.

Allow me to clarify for a moment: the job is challenging. I work full time with five Korean co-teachers, and I teach every student in the school once a week (that's 22 classes with roughly 40 kids in each class). I've felt so grateful to have consistent clarity in regard to challenges like paying bills, setting up a bank account and cell phone plan, and finding a doctor when needed. Learning how to teach English well requires my full attention. The EPIK staff makes it possible to do so by removing the complicated guesswork that comes with settling in a new country.


Point of Adoration #2: I live here for FREEEE!
Really close to true. Most all teaching positions in Korea come with a free apartment, through EPIK or otherwise. My flight was also reimbursed, I'll receive money at the end of the year for a flight home (or a bonus if I resign my contract), medical expenses are teensie (think: roughly $4 for a visit to the doctor and a prescription once you've received your Alien Residency Card), and I make enough money to pay off loans at home while also traveling and saving money.

Added bonus:the cost of living is low and public transportation in Korea is GREAT. I can make it to Seoul or Busan (the two largest cities) for less than $50, round trip. Amazing.


Point of Adoration #3: Friends are also included in the EPIK contract.
(Unofficially very true, though it's perhaps your choice to dismiss them.)
After deciding to apply, the potential for loneliness became a top concern. The reality? My social calendar is so full I can barely think straight. During the week-long arrival orientation, hundreds of incoming EPIK teachers gather in one place to prepare for the year ahead and to bond, tightly. In my case, I met over 50 teachers from the U.S., Canada, South Africa, Australia, the U.K., and Ireland, all headed to Gwangju.

Nearly three months into the experience, we continue to travel herd-style and refer to ourselves as "The Family". Yes, it's cult-ish and slightly ethnocentric, but I like to think we drive each other to work and live with greater intensity. Nights out consistently mix dancing and drinks with lesson plan sharing, ideas for more effective classroom management, and a heavy dose of encouragement to ease the tension of working in such a distinctly unfamiliar job environment. It's beautiful.

To those inclined to criticize such blatant social separation from Korean society, I'll admit that I'm ideologically opposed to it as well. I do spend significantly more time at school (40 hours a week) than I spend with friends, and four of the hours spent with friends every week include Korean language lessons at Chonnam University (back to that driving each other to greater heights thing). So... there. I think that when you find yourself surrounded by people who care for each other and insist upon exploring every last inch of the world around them, it's best just to go with it.


Multiple Points of Adoration, for the sake of summary.
In case my previous three points haven't convinced you, here's a partial list of my activities from the past three months: I've traveled to Seoul and Busan, performed with a local English theatre group, attended multiple live music events (hit or miss on that point, really. Music lovers: don't make it your reason for moving here), joined the Gwangju International Center (which features an English library and many other cultural events, including a meditation group and guest lecture series), attended an interpretive dance workshop, camped at the gorgeous Wando beach, went swing dancing, and spent a full day hiking just outside Gwangju.

Currently, I attend Korean language class, yoga class (last night we practiced on a rooftop overlooking the city at sunset), and I'm working behind the scenes for the next theatre project. I also have plans for Japan and Taiwan in the works! :)

-----------

If it sounds like I'm bragging, I am... but my intentions are good! Since arriving, I've heard from a surprising number of people interested in applying for the program. The odds are high that if you're reading this blog, you know someone who might possibly be interested. While applying, I relied heavily on the reassurance of one friend of a friend (we have yet to meet!) who currently works in Seoul, and I'd love to help someone in a similar position.

Please feel welcome to email me with any questions you have!

Thanks for reading, and for allowing me to gush a little on this post.
Bethany ;)

Apply to EPIK! Here's the website: www.epik.go.kr
There are many recruiting companies who offer to make the process easier, but it's largely unnecessary.  Most of my friends went directly through EPIK, and those who worked with additional companies received little additional benefit (if any) from the go-between companies.

The note I promised earlier regarding hagwons: some of them are great, but you need to be careful. If you want to take that route, I recommend privately getting in touch with a current teacher (not someone who is paid to bring you here). I can help you do that if you're interested. There are other viable options, as well. Since I came through EPIK, I can best speak to my experience, but I'm happy to put anyone in touch with friends I've made outside this program.

Google Translate Fails Again!

As a follow-up to the last post...

I received this message recently:
중간고사 성적이 마무리 되었습니다.
일람표(교과목,학급별)및 성적통지표등이 처리되었으니 학생지도에 활요하실수 있습니다.

Google Translate offered this:
Midterm grades have been finalized.
Schedule (courses, per class), and was dealt with sexual guidance on report cards, etc. are hwalyohasilsu.


Also, I misinformed you on the Korean way to express "hahaha". It's like this: ㅋㅋㅋ. Thanks to the anonymous person who brought it to my attention!

Cool Messenger

For the first several weeks of school, I believed that all teachers were obsessed with a clunky-looking Korean instant messaging program called "Cool Messenger". Every time the silly "POP!" sound of new messages rang through the teachers' lounge, I flashed back to early high school when my evenings were consumed by lol-ing on AOL. I simultaneously felt left out of the Korean messaging fun and judged them for their fixation.

In reality, the school uses Cool Messenger to share updates and messages between the staff members, and I'm pleased to report that I've since been granted an account of my own. My screen name "Bethany" looks as awkwardly placed among the Korean names as my physical presence, but it's good fun all the same. I've now taken to translating the staff announcements using Google translator, which primarily serves to highlight the inadequacy of automated translation rather than inform me of important school news.

The message I received earlier today:

친목회에서 알려드립니다.
5월 12일 이번주 토요일입니다.
양동 금호예식장에서 12시
주월중의 맛있는 점심을 책임지는
급식실 김덕인선생님 결혼식이
있습니다.
휴일 바쁜 시간이지만
예쁘게 단장한 신부 모습도 보시고 
개인적으로 축하해 주시기 바랍니다.

The Google translation:
Please note that stumble.
May 12 is the next Saturday.
Diversion from Kumho Wedding 12:00
Juwol responsible for a delicious lunch of
Gimdeok of wedding meals room teacher
Can.
Busy holiday time, but
Also saw the bride look beautiful refurbished
Please congratulate personally.


I'm left with so many questions. Why is it necessary to create a diversion from the Kumho wedding? What holiday did I fail to celebrate? And, most importantly, am I expected to congratulate the bride? For now, I'll remain content with simply being included in the messaging. lol ^--^


PS- Fun Fact! The Korean equivalent to the sideways smiley :) is ^--^,  and ㅋㅋㅋ  replaces 'hahaha'. 

Burning Mugwort

"What are you writing?"

My face instantly flushes. Twenty minutes into my first acupuncture appointment, I discover the doctor speaks fluent English. "Notes... about things," I respond, flustered. "It's a good habit," he replies. 

So, yes, I'd checked myself into an office with the expectation of being stuck with needles by a doctor with whom I share few common words. I blame my co-teacher, Younga, who first mentioned the popularity and benefits of getting an acupuncture treatment, though she'd never experienced it herself. Frequent gripes over our poor sinuses lead us to the Oriental Medicine Hospital, where we now sit and list our problems. While Younga carries on her consultation in Korean, I take notes in my planner: the office is stunningly nice, it smells like the jimjilbang, and there's a sculpture on the doctor's desk that looks like a mound of earwax. 

The doctor's English skills put me at ease, considering that the first online recommendation I read prior to the appointment stated, "You'll want to know that the practitioner you decide upon is someone whom you can talk to easily. After all, it's the acupuncturist's job to communicate well with you in order to treat you effectively." He confirms, "Your problem is chronic, all your life! This will help", and then leads Younga and me to a room filled with hospital beds and curtains. Younga throws me an anxious glance and we crawl into our respective beds. 

Nurses draw the curtains, and I hear Younga whimper as the doctor begins her treatment. Though she first casually suggested trying acupuncture, I insisted upon it. I also assured her that it wouldn't hurt, since thousands of people have done it for thousands of years. (In fact, I recommend this summary from the University of Maryland, in case you're interested to learn more: http://www.umm.edu/altmed/articles/acupuncture-000345.htm). Finding myself, once again, second in line to a friend suffering through a Korean health treatment, I breathe deeply and wait. 

Soon enough, the doctor swings back the curtain and swiftly taps twelve or so tiny needles into my face and hands. Minimal discomfort results, so I calmly rest under the warmth of the heat lamp placed over my bed. Through the curtain, Younga asks, "Are you okay? Do you want to do another oriental treatment after this one? It is included in the payment". For only 8,000 won, I can get an acupuncture treatment and an unspecified 'other' oriental treatment?! This place is heaven. I agree. 

After twenty minutes or so, the needles are removed, and we proceed upstairs for our bonus treatment. This time, we're placed in a more cramped two-bed room with a small table displaying a blow torch and two wooden buckets filled with herbs. The nurse explains the procedure to Younga, who relays to me, "These herbs are called 'mugwort'. She will light them on fire, and you will hold the bucket on your stomach while they burn. It is good for many things". Simple enough! We slide up our shirts, lay towels over our stomachs to protect them from ash, and enjoy the pleasant smell and warmth for the next half hour. 

I leave the office feeling calm, light-headed, and ready for an evening at Korean language class. Korean class is, incidentally, going well! I can read the alphabet now, so I'm having frequent flashbacks to kindergarten. Sounding out words is my newest hobby! (<That's what I keep telling myself to prevent discouragement. It's working so far). 

사 랑  (love)

 Bethany

PS- Apologies to anyone who read this blog hoping that "Mugwort" was a Harry Potter reference. You'll have to look elsewhere. 

PPS- Since posting this earlier today, I went back for the second appointment! When I walked in the door, the doctor said, "Where have you been?!". I missed the memo that two treatments a week is expected for four to five weeks. Ah well! I made up for it with acupuncture, burning mugwort, AND A MASSAGE! A real one! It was included in the 8,000 won price, and I will certainly return twice a week for treatments. I'm in a state of bliss!

Information Overload

Oh, hey, look at me living on my own!

Here I am, in my apartment. Not feeling lonely! Cause I'm not! I'm BUSY. I also have enough self-reliance to feel completely at ease here, by myself, in my apartment. In fact, I'm going to write a facebook status about it,

"Just LIVIN' THE LIFE in Gwangju! BE JEALOUS!"

Never mind. I'm deleting that. It's too self-obsessed, and I don't want to seem too self obsessed to all of my friends. My hundreds of friends. The ones I could easily call or skype or text on my smart phone or email right now. Emailing's a good idea. I should email more often. There are a lot of people I've been meaning to email, but isn't that why I started a blog...?
--

Earlier today, I decided to spend the evening alone, for reasons of 'processing', 'breathing in normal rhythms', and generally 'calming the heck down'. A miserable fever on Monday morning cued me into the idea that perhaps I don't need to participate in every activity available to me right away. Last week's schedule of play practices, Korean language lessons, yoga, hiking, all day teaching and lesson planning, all night dancing and DVD bang movie marathons, and an absurd list of additional activities which filled the spare moments nearly wrecked me.

During a time when "find the post office" is still a high priority item on my To Do list, it seems reasonable to slow down and breathe. My quality of life here remains stellar, top-notch, and seriously worthy of consideration for a second year (parents, grandparents, I said I'm only considering it). Each day is wonderfully and terribly packed with things and people that I LOVE, which brings me to my theme for the next several posts:


Reasons to LOVE Life in Korea. 

Note: The order is highly irrelevant.

1. Toilet Paper.
It's rarely where you want it, and everywhere you'd never think to use it. In the photo provided, you'll first note my friends' expressions of surprise and delight. Though their happy grins actually resulted from the purchase of corndogs in the wee hours of the morning, they could just as easily be pleased by the hanging roll of toilet paper available for their post-corndog hand wiping.

I've yet to handle a roll of paper towels since I arrived two months ago, and this street vendor was located no where near a public restroom. Living in Korea has transformed my once feeble perception of toilet paper's limits. It now serves as my napkins, dusting cloths, Easter egg dyeing table coverage, and looks absolutely normal when placed on my desk at school. To think: I once confined such an obviously multi-purpose product to one dumb room in my house!

2. Childhood Freedom.
I've mentioned the high-spirited energy with which my students blaze through the school hallways, but yesterday an entirely new level of childhood freedom caught me off guard. In the midst of heavy, tedious rush hour traffic, the tiniest passenger I've ever seen swiped his card and stepped onto the bus. Standing no where near the height of my waist, it looked as if the kid had taken his first steps and was rewarded with a city bus pass.

It's doubtful I was allowed to sit in the front seat of the car in that phase of life, and this kid has the nerve to navigate the public transportation system. Bitterness aside, what altered reality did I find here? Let's revive the bitterness for a moment and ask: how often are kids in the US allowed to play on playgrounds by themselves? It's so rare to see gangs of kids in middle class neighborhoods roaming the streets because it's not safe.

In Gwangju, there are kids everywhere. I'd hate to think that they're just one bad public offender case away from what I see at home; but for now, I'm enjoying it. I like believing it's possible for them to run and play safely, under the watchful eye of all the fierce little Korean grandmothers who patrol the streets in their purple puffy coats. It's refreshing.

... more about the grandmothers later, I promise ;)

Moo lie oh (I don't know)

I've started to learn basic phrases by asking my students for suggestions. Beyond the basic 'hello', 'goodbye', and 'thank you', I can now form a coherent series of sentences that sound like "choy young e hay. sarang e yo. sa-tang joo sayo".

It translates to: "Shut up. I love you. Give me candy."

I'm considering making more specific translation requests in the future.
"Teach me something!" may not be enough.

In other news, I'm in a play. :) It will be my first performance since high school, and I'm psyched. The title is "English Made Simple" by David Ives, and it's part of a series of one acts produced by The Gwangju Performance Project through the Gwangju International Center. We'll perform on May 5th and 6th, so apologies for any delay in future blog posts.
I have some memorizing to do...

Perfectly Normal

It's no secret that I'm a sucker for anything relaxing. I regularly fill my living spaces with lavender scented candles and aromatherapy oils, request massage gift certificates for birthday and Christmas presents, and listen to more Enya than most people would consider "healthy". whatever. It works for me. As you can imagine, when I heard about the wonders of  Korean bathhouses, my first question was, "How soon can I go?!?"

A jimjilbang, or traditional Korean bathhouse, offers an inexpensive and luxurious option for anyone interested in a deeply calming spa experience. Grandmothers go, toddlers go, young professionals go. It's a wonderful place for the entire community to celebrate good health; one which might be compared to a top tier American community swimming pool, except separated by gender, located indoors, and enjoyed sans-swimsuits.

On one decidedly overcast and dismal Saturday, three of my friends and I decide to experience it for ourselves. My friend, Brittany, lives near a place called BIG SPO, which looks like a multi-storied shopping center. Following rumors that 'BIG SPO' is simply a misguided romanization of 'Big Spa', we enter the doors and approach the front desk. Some gesturing and shy attempts at pronouncing 'jimjilbang' results in stacks of fresh towels, bracelets with locker keys, and heavy cotton shirts and shorts for each person, all for 7,000 won apiece (a little less than $7.00).

A friendly employee directs us to the locker room, where we change into the baggy cotton outfits that look oddly similar to hospital scrubs. We then proceed to the common area where men, women, and children lounge contentedly, all wearing the matching cotton outfits, eating snacks, watching t.v., and chatting. It's a welcoming, if not unexpected, scene. We wander a bit, enjoying the feel of the heated floors and stepping along a stone pathway intended for foot massage.

Toward the back of the spacious room, a woman opens a tiny door and ducks inside. We follow. Immediately, my feet feel the fire of the smooth, heated rocks that cover the floor. The room itself is toastyhot, quiet, lit with dim lights, and showcases an Egyptian themed mural. With the soft haze of desert pyramids surrounding us, my friends and I lay down our towels and settle comfortably on the heated stones. As we talk quietly, so not to bother the six or so other occupants of the room, three little children approach. They smile, we smile. They sit close to us and chatter softly, occasionally pausing to poke us and say, "Teacher!".

The same scene is repeated as we visit a series of small rooms (curious children included), each one hotter than the last, until we arrive dripping in sweat at a mini igloo room. Welcomed by images of penguins, we happily rest with our feet propped against the walls of ice while our body temperatures return to normal levels. Invigorated, we conclude that it's definitely time for the pools.

At this point, the men and women separate into different rooms. Ciara, Brittany, Justin, and I waltz back into the locker rooms for yet another clothing change... this time with a bit more giggling and statements of "Are we REALLY going through with this?!" We all pause to nervously announce our insecurities ("ughh the sticky rice cakes from the teachers' lounge are going straight to my thighs", "A steady diet of mandoo definitely isn't resulting in a six pack..."), and then drop our towels and step into the chamomile scented wonderland of steaming hot pools.

I think it's fair to say that bodies come in all shapes and sizes. We make a serious effort to stride calmly toward the pools as though it's perfectly normal for us to stand naked in a room filled with a hundred women ranging from age 2 to 82. Our lack of knowledge is made obvious immediately, however, as several grandmother-types police us back in the direction of the showers along the entrance wall. A couple of women offer to share their shampoo and body wash, for which we gratefully thank them. Freshly showered, we turn back around and hop into one of the six or so hot pools in the center of the room.

The next two hours breeze past wonderfully, as we dip our way into one pool after another, spend time in the saunas along the right side of the room, and then return to the pools. one hot. one cold. one cold with heavy water pressure, another with nearly boiling hot water. While the majority of the room is dedicated to pools, the left side is reserved for another activity altogether: exfoliation. We look on from the hot pools as mothers, daughters, and friends vigorously scrub each other using rough cloths. It's somehow a loving gesture to observe, although unfamiliar enough for Brittany to look straight at me and say, "Yeah, I'll sit here in this pool with you, but we're NOT at that level yet."

no kidding.

Eager to maximize on our experience, we inquire about the availability of "massage-ees". To our delight, we find that a massage costs only 17,000 won. AMAZING. We pay and get in a hot tub to wait. Within minutes, three tiny 60-something year old women stride out with the swagger of football linebackers. Two bothered to dress in a bra and panties. One only got as far as the latter. Using swift gestures that say something like, "You paid, now let's get this over with", they motion toward three plastic-covered tables in the far corner of the room. Feeling happy in the scalding hot pool, I assure my friends that I can wait for my turn and watch from a distance.

The term 'massage therapists' seems entirely inaccurate in this context, so I'll just say 'tiny linebackers'. Using every ounce of force at their disposal, the tiny linebackers begin by dumping buckets of hot water over their clients (also inaccurate. I'll use 'naive foreigners'). Next, they reveal two exfoliating cloths each; and, with the gentle touch of someone removing rust with steel wool, they start their work. Expressions of anguish fix themselves on the faces of all three naive foreigners, and I opt to swim elsewhere before I convince myself to ask for my money back...mostly because I have no idea how to ask for my money back.

Twenty minutes pass and it's my turn. My friends walk past me uttering things like, "I'm.so.raw" and "All my skin is gone...". I value their encouragement. The next span of time includes an insane amount of effort to just stay on the table, thanks to the fact that numerous buckets of water poured at regular intervals over slippery skin on a plastic table hardly results in much stability. My giggling does nothing to ease the ferocity of the tiny linebacker, who insists on whipping my arms over my head and then down to my sides, shoving me on my side, and yanking my legs in different directions while she thoroughly scrubs. I can't emphasize the word 'thoroughly' enough.
so. much. exfoliation.

Eventually, it ends. Back in the pools, we decide it was worth it and we feel like champions. Champions of what isn't entirely clear, but satisfaction is definitely present.

We've also agreed to return sometime soon. Our skin feels AWESOME.