1400 wishes at Jeondeung-sa (전등사)

Jeondeung-sa, the "Temple of the Inherited Lamp" is a functioning Buddhist temple where you can go and join the monks at their prayer, or just enjoy the scenery. The temple ceilings are covered with Jade green lamps, shaped like lotus blossoms. Prayer and incense fill the temple, floating up to the ceiling where a wish is attached to every lamp.

In other important news

There was Typhoon my second week here. A TYPHOON. I woke up in the middle of the night, because my apartment was swaying, and wind was whistling through the cracks in my windows. I huddled under the covers, terrified, for about 2 hours.

When I got to school later (because yeah...we still went to school), I asked my friend Kayobi what a Typhoon is, discovered that typhoon is the word for "hurricane" in this part of the world.


AAAAAA!!! I lived through a hurricane!

I was so glad I didn't know what it was at the time, or I probably would have started crying. Seriously.

And of course, the typhoon caused the worst problem in Korea for 100 years (it's always 100 years here, for some reason)...

The Great Cabbage Crisis.

But more on that later.

The pump and wiggle; I can feel the love

Going out to night clubs in korea is like stepping into an episode of Batman Beyond and hanging out with Terry in one of those crazy clubs where the light is all green, the speakers visibly pump and everyone dances in a cartoonish, angular fashion.

But that's not the weird part.

The weird part is that I am...well, exotic.

OK, so I didn't expect to fit in the crowd in a nightclub in Korea. Or actually, anywhere in Korea. But I naively assumed that any exotic fantasy mating-frenzy would be focused on the universally excepted love-muffins of the non-western world - white girls.

I was...rather uncomfortably...wrong.

Being a black girl in Korea makes me constantly aware of how...well, curvy I am. Not that I consider myself to be particularly voluptuous, but I've certainly got more meat on my everything than a Korean girl. And while the standard for Korean women is skinny, skinny, that doesn't stop the men from trying to get a squeezy squeezy when you're in a club.

The meatiness is a novelty. Oh yeah, and the boobs. They are in awe of boobs.

That being said, Korean guys have the most polite clubbing habits of any guys I have ever met. They approach hesitantly, and literally run away if you look at them too hard. They grasp your waist, gently, to dance. Very little "wandering hands" that can't be easily guided back to the proper place. At the end of a dance, they go in for a cute "I really like you" and "where are you from?"

They also try the less cute "I really like the way you dance" and try to hold onto you possessively once the music stops.

I'm not a fan of that.

But the thing - the big difference thing - that sets Korean men apart from other men?

The pump and wiggle.

Seriously, that's how they dance with a gal.

Pump, wiggle. Pump, pump, wiggle.

AAAAAAAAA!!!

The first time it happened, I almost said "where did you learn that?" But it was too loud, so I just ran away instead. Ran straight into some guy, who held up his cell to my face, where he'd typed "Hi". I kept running.

Sitting on the side, catching my breath another night. I thought I was safely out way, when a guy reached out and gave my waist a double squeeze, then flashed me a flirty smile.

Seriously? This is how we're flirting? By grabbing the fat on my waist?

Hmm. Interesting...

The skinny on teaching

When I got hired, I was obsessed with a fear of the unknown. How, exactly, does a person become an ESL teacher in Korea. Is there some magic that happens when you get here? Is there training?

Ha! training.

That would be a BIG NO, kiddies.

Actually, I asked about training during my interview. I was told, "yes, about a week". That turned out to a miscommunication. By "training" they meant "orientation....one month after you arrive".  Anyways...

So, here's how it really goes.

Teaching in Korea is pretty much cold turkey. They through you a classroom with a bunch of kids, and you scramble for games to play, end up going about 50 rounds of "hangman" until you have a chance to look over the curriculum and stumble your way through.

Unless, of course, you have an awesome co-teacher, like Ghey.

Your co-teacher is the Korean teacher who is responsible for you. They help you pay your bills, show you were the grocery store is located, and hold your hand while you get your footing.

In my case, Ghey let me take a day to observe the other teachers before I had to start teaching. This was after 10 minutes of her telling me to "just teach", followed by the realization that...somehow...someone else's teaching certificate ended up my hiring file, and I really didn't know what I was doing.

The previously mentioned obsessive fear came in handy - I read up on teaching before I arrived, and had The Veganess (who was a teacher before she became a Physical Therapist), help me figure out how to lesson plan. So, after a day of observation, and some personal time with the Ministry of Education mandated curriculum guide, I made my first lesson plan.

It took about 3 hours for that first class, plus I practiced for about 20 minutes in the mirror so that I could work out my nerves before I got to class.

Obviously, I didn't that up.

Nowadays, I can make a lesson plan in about an hour.  And when I totally run out of ideas...

"Who wants to play HANGMAN?" I say.

"YAY!"

"Hang-uh, man-uh!"

"AsAAAAH!"*



* roughly translates to "yeeesssssss!!!"

Where to start, really?

So much has happened, it's hard to know where to begin. I've decided to just cram in a bunch of mini-posts, until I catch that glib, bloggy vibe again, that seems to have eluded me for various reasons - I'm busy, I'm tired, and right now I'm recovering from a visit to the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor that ended up with a long thin metal tube so far up my nose I was (sincerely) worried my brains might get scrambled, mummy style.

Anyways. I am here, and I still kicking. Here's what I've been up to...

The pepper story

I went out to dinner with my co-worker, Krissie. We ordered two bowls of Prugogi, then began to munch on our side dishes while we waited for it to arrive. Prugogi (or Bulgogi, depending on the transliteration) is shaved beef served one of two ways: in a soup with green onions, transparent noodles, mushrooms and some other random thing that I can't identify, but it's delicious. The other way is to have the shaved beef served in a red sauce, with veggies.  We were waiting for the soup variety, served in a hot stone bowl.

The side dishes were the usual mix of lettuce, kimchi, and other pickled veggies. There was also fish tempura bites, red sauce, and peppers.  Right away, Krissie picked up a pepper, spooned some red sauce onto her plate, dipped the tip in and bit it.

My jaw dropped.

She crunched happily until she saw my face.

"What?" she said.

"You just put that straight in your mouth! With red sauce!"

"It's not hot!" she shook her head. "This is...cucumber pepper. It's my favorite. It's not hot."

Hmm...I did not believe. This pepper looks like a jalapeño, except bigger.  And would never chomp down on a jalapeño with spicy sauce added to the tip.

"try it!" she insisted, "I promise, it's not hot."

"Hmm...." I decided to go for it. Without the sauce, of course. I picked a firm, green pepper from the stack and gingerly bit the tip.

To my surprise, it was not hot. She was right. It tasted a bit like a green pepper, actually.

"It's great!" I smiled big, took another bite. Krissie smiled back, approving.

Our food arrived, steaming and delicious. In between ladling spoonfuls of meat and sauce onto my rice, I nibbled my pepper. It added a nice punch to the subtle combination of flavors in the rest of my dish.

Everything was so good, that I decided to take my taste adventure a step further. I gently dolloped some red sauce onto my side plate, dipped my pepper in, and bit it.

Now, I must take a moment to explain to you something that I did not know about this peppers. Something I only discovered on this last, crucial bite. These "cucumber" peppers are indeed, not hot. At least, not the bottom half, before you hit the seeds. Once you get to the middle (right where I was), the flesh of the pepper, the seeds, and the juice all quadruple in spiciness. If you're counting, that's three things getting four times hotter. So...12 times what I was expecting to experience. Plus, spicy sauce.

So anyways, I bit the pepper. After about 3 seconds, acid heat exploded over my tongue, my gums, and the roof of my mouth. Everything was on fire, the most intense pain. My eyes smarted, and I nearly choked with surprise. I picked up a clump of sticky rice to chew the rest of the pepper down. The rice soaked up the spicy juice, and I got a moment of relief. I swallowed.

The minute I stopped eating, the heat started again. My mouth filled with heat, the temperature increase until the heat rose up through my sinus cavity and behind my eyes. Krissie, completely unaware of the pain I was suffering, kept eating.

What to do? I didn't want to interrupt the dinner by crying or carrying on. I tried to keep eating, hoping the pain would stop. I ladled some prugogi onto my rice, and spooned it up. Unfortunately, the piping hot meat only it worse. My mouth was too sensitive to keep eating hot food! It felt raw, bruised.  I tried more plain rice.

The minute I stopped chewing, the heat rose again.

Ok, water.

I reached, as slowly as I could to not raise alarm, for the pitcher and refilled my small cup. I subtly downed it.

No go, still burning.

It is a strange thing to sit across from some and not be able to communicate that you are in intense, might possibly die from and overcooked brain.

I alternated my rice and water regimen so many times that Krissie looked up.

"Is it hot?" she asked me.

You would think this is when I would ask for help, right?

Nope.

I was embarrassed...truly mortified...that I couldn't hack the heat. So instead, I said,

"Oh, just a little."

Krissie looked concerned, but I just smiled, and ate more rice. All the while, I was wondering how long I could keep this up before I actually started crying.

In a last ditch effort, I started eating the side dishes - the only cold food at the table. I avoided the kimchi and anything that looked potentially spicy. I went for the tempura.

INSTANT RELIEF.

Don't ask me why this worked, because I don't know. All I know is, the heat was suddenly gone, and I felt so weak and grateful that I really almost started crying. Instead, I shoved in the rest of the tempura, then gingerly returned to my meal. Rice first, to give my tongue a break, then some meat.

When I had control again, I explained to Krissie what happened. She was shocked.

"Really?" She said, "The pepper? I usually eat the whole thing, all the way to the top!"

And that, my friends, was the last time I took advice from a Korean on whether or not something is spicy.

Disease! In your...you know

At the beginning of a night that ended in a Korean Pop Club with me in the middle of a double-man sandwich (yikes), I took a taxi ride around Suwon, south of Seoul.

"There's Lover's Lane" the Birthday Boy said, pointing out a covered alley full of tiny shops.

"Wow," I said, "There's actually red light! I've never seen that before."

"Yeah," said Birthday Boy, "It's huge too. It goes all the way around the block."

At this point our driver, glancing at where we were pointing, started gesturing wildly.

"No, no, no!" He said, then launched into Korean. He started pointing emphatically Birthday Boy's...party favors. Back at the alley, party favors, alley, party favors. Birthday Boy covered up his stuff with his hands, started laughing awkwardly and replying in Korean.

It was easy enough to supply my own dialog.

"Don't go there!" said the Driver. "Penis! You will get a disease!  A disease in your penis! Bad for man strength!"

"I know, I know," said Birthday Boy. "I was just showing my friends..."

"Don't go there!" said the driver, "No, no, no! Disease, much disease in your penis!"

"I won't go there!" Birthday Boy said, waving wildly (and simultaneously blocking his party favors from being unintentionally jabbed by the enthusiastic driver), "I won't go!"

"Disease!" said the driver.

I could not stop laughing until we got out of the cab.

Gyeongbuk Palace Throne Room

Training my students to say my name

In Korean society, it is not common to use someone's name. You are son, daughter, father, teacher, principal, etc. If you do tell someone your name, it's Last, First.

Introducing myself to the kids caused all sorts of hilarity. They called me Teacher, Teacher T-uh, Mishi, Mishi Teacher.

Or just, Hello.

As fun as it is to hear 50 different versions of my name bouncing around the hallway, I decided to correct the pandemonium. With candy.

I had a French teacher in high school who used to keep us on our toes with the elusive promise of "bonbons" if we said something really smart. Taking a tip out of his teacher's guide, I went out and bought a ton of candy - muscat, hazelnut, and melon flavor, and put them in a bag.

Next step:

"Who knows my name?" I asked each class after the greeting.

Blink, blink, went my students.

"Who?" I said, "Who knows? If you know, please stand up."

I quizzed the ones standing, then let the wrong answers take a seat.

"For the rest of you..." I picked up my goodie bag and shook it. Instantly, the students sat up straighter.

"Oh? Candy?"

"Because you gave me such a good answer" I said, "you get..." I shook the bag. "a PRIZE." Shake shake shake.

"AAAAAAAh"

"Teacher, me!"

"CAHNDY please-uh!"

Shake shake shake. "Oh no," I said. "I give candy only for the correct answer"

Suddenly, everyone is shouting "MS.T" at the top of their lungs.

"Everybody knows it now, huh?"

"YES, Ms. T. Cahndy please-uh!"

"NOPE." I shook the bag. "ONLY for the good answers."

Boy they learn fast. After a week of this little game, I am hearing, "Hello Ms. T!" chorusing through the hallways. It makes me smile.

Of course, they usually follow it up with "give me cahndy please-uh!"

Heolleung and Illeung (헌인릉)

I visited the tombs of King Taejong and King Sunjo, located an easy bus ride from the outskirts of Seoul. I don't that much about Korean ancient history, but the tombsite was amazing: beautiful, clear, peaceful. Definitely worth a visit.

School Toilet Scenario # 1

This morning, the door to the 5th floor bathroom was closed, and a sign that I assumed meant "out of order" was tapped on the front.  Actually, the door for the boys bathroom next door was locked, too.

"The bathroom is under construction" Ghey told me, "Apparently, it's really badly broken."

I am pretty sure - like, 99% sure - that I actually managed to break toilet. You how I said I would keep on ignoring the used TP basket thrown side until I clogged the toilet and had to run away and pretend I knew nothing about it?

I didn't think it would actually happen!

At least, I didn't think I would actually shut down a whole bathroom (instead of just a stall), let alone TWO whole bathrooms.

Umm....whoops.

Korean Wedding, Inc.

On Saturday, Ghey took me to a wedding in Seoul. I was excited. I was nervous. I mean, I don't know anything about Korean wedding traditions. What should I wear? What should I bring? Should I bring a pair of back up shoes in case the party lasts all night?

I opted for a classic look, with a twist. LBD, heels, and a bright pink belt. (gotta be me, after all.) Ghey rode the subway to Gangnam station, and walked to the wedding hall.

First, let's take pause.

I assumed we were going to a church, or a temple, or a country club, or some sort of rented space.

No no no no no.

In Korea, when you want to get married, you go to "The Wedding Place" - an office like building with several floors for wedding ceremonies and a buffet cafeteria. Outside of the wedding place were several cars decorated with baby pink flowers, ribbons, etc. Inside the crowded hall, there were several pre-made flower arrangements, taller than me that were placed near the door and then taken away again (I have no idea why). Several ladies dressed in panty-line hugging tight white airline stewardess satin dresses, trimmed in baby pink, where stationed at the entrance, directing people around with graceful arm waves, and sentences that end in "Im Nee Da".

Welcome to the wedding hall.

In case, you are wondering (like I was) what the heck was going on, I'll tell you: multiple ceremonies. Korean wedding ceremonies are very short, 30 minutes or less. So, one wedding party hangs around outside of the chapel room until it's their turn, they pile in, hit it, quit it, take several pictures, then bounce.

Yeah....

But back to my story.

So, I'm standing adrift, floating high above Ghey's head, because of my heels. All around are young men in shimmery suits in navy, charcoal, and black, giving me the once over and the occasional "come hither" eyebrow raise. I smile, nervous, and scoot closer to Ghey.

A woman, radiant in yellow and pink Hanbok (Korean traditional dress), pops up and grabs Ghey's hands. They are smiling and gabbing in Korean, pointing at me, smiling at each other, and I am feeling very tall and awkward.

I just keep smiling.

This is Ghey's friend, whose brother is getting married. She and Ghey gab for a bit more, so I decide to wander around. I move closer to the chapel room, to peek in. There is a bride, a groom, and more ladies in white, coming down the aisle. The ladies in white kneel down with small cannons, then shoot streamers over the couple, who are laughing and smiling.

Suddenly, Ghey is at my elbow.

"Let's eat lunch," she says.

Um, what??? My face says.

"Aren't you hungry?" she says. She looks concerned.

"Yes, but" I look around at the milling crowd, "Can we eat now?"

Ghey looks around, too. "I think so," she says.

Turns out, we can just eat whenever. Ghey grabs our meal tickets, and we head down the buffet hall (which she calls "boo-pay" - took me a minute to work that one out). The cafeteria has a long table loaded with more dishes than I have ever seen in one place, most of them unknown to me. I decide to do the rational, unadventurous thing: I am only gonna eat what Ghey is eating.

We sit with strangers who are obviously galking at me, then run back upstairs to catch our ceremony.

Ten minutes later, cannon streamers.

Oh, excuse.

Fifteen minutes. (Ghey insists on this point)

"What happened?" I say, squirming in my seat "did we miss it?"

"No, we did not miss," Ghey says, "very short ceremony."

I look at the bride. It took her longer to do her hair than it did to get married. So much effort - coiffure, make up, highly constructed breath-no-more dress to emphasis curves that don't exist, heels...

Ten minutes?

TEN MINUTES?

Oh yeah, and no cake. I probably more scandalized by the lack of cake then the lack of ceremony.

After the guests left, there was a private ceremony for the family which Ghey and I nosed our way into. The bride and groom dress up in traditional Korean wedding robes, and bow to the parents in law. They parents throw chestnuts (for boys) and Jujubes - the fruit, not the candy - (for girls), into a cloth the couple holds, to symbolize the number of children they will have.

One fistful of chestnuts and one fistful of Jujubes equals....WAY TOO MANY KIDS. I wouldn't even wish for that.

On the way out, the mother of the groom pressed three chestnuts into my hand.

"You know," I said to Ghey, "this is first time that I went to a wedding where someone said "may you bear three sons."

"No no," she said, "it doesn't mean that. The chestnuts were part of the ceremony. They are for good luck."

I notice that she wasn't trying to hand me Jujubes, though.

Mexican food in Bucheon, part 2

Mexican food in Bucheon, part 1

My home line rang. "Yobuseyo?"

I have taken to answering my home phone in Korean, if I am not expecting the call. It's not really a good idea - I can't say anything other than "hello", but for some reason I like to conceal the fact that I'm a foreigner on the phone - at least for 10 seconds.

"Hey, it's Virginia. You want to go out to dinner? I found a mexican food place in Bucheon."

I started laughing. "I do not believe you," I said.

"No, seriously," she said, "this time, I know someone who's been there.

I waffled, weighing the risks. Indegistion, disappointment, chunk blown out of my dwindling cash stack (I haven't been paid yet at this point).

The pros? Meet new people.

"Ok, I'm in." I said.

I met Virginia and two of her friends at Holly's Coffee, a nearby cafe. From there, one of guys led us to Rhythym and Booze.

R&B is a bar within walking distance of apartment building that has (since) become a regular hang out. The staff is cool, friendly, and english-speaking. You can order quesadillas, nachos, and hamburgers along with a decent non-korean beer (I have yet to find a really tasty Korean beer. So far, I've had the equivalent of Coors and Michalobe light...yum...)

The most amazing thing about R&B was, actually, the cheese on my nachos. I fell on them, face first and did not come up for air or conversation until I finished half of the enormous plate. Also, the price, for American food, is a steal. $10, instead of the $20 I paid the time before. If you are living in or around Bucheon and craving American foods, R&B is a pretty solid choice. They also serve an American-style brunch, but I have yet to try it.

While I was happily scarfing down my food, I listened to the conversation around me. It focused mostly on school, and problems with the kids.

"I almost threw a kid out the window today" one person said.

I choked on cheese and salsa, face freezing.

"You serious?" I eventually managed.

"Oh yeah," someone else agreed, "I tell them that all the time. I dragged a kid to the window yesterday, was ready to throw him."

The conversation went on like that for a while. I realized that I was luckier than I thought. Not only was I making new friends, and eating good cheese. I have GOOD kids.

Whew, thank goodness.

I can just imagine the look on Ghey's face if I dragged a kid to the window...

Perms and rollersets or; Pink – it’s not just for men

Walking home from a local bar, a young man on a bike swooped out in front of me and Virginia, poppin’ wheelies and winking at us. Of course, any creds he would have gotten for being a biking bad*ss were completely undermined by the fact that he was wheeling around on a baby pink bike.

Yup.

Pink is a gender neutral color in Korea, which pretty startling – bordering on offensive – to my American sensibilities. Pink cell phones, pink ties with rhinestones (oh, excuse me – cubic zirconium), pink bikes with shimmery back seats for riding your best – male – friend to school.

It’s a different world, for sure for sure.

There are mirrors in almost every building in Bucheon, which is not that remarkable. The only reason I noticed the mirrors is because the men are constantly fixing their hair every time they walk past one.

Standing in the elevator next to an eighteen year old (probably a twenty eight year old, actually – they all look about 10 years younger than they actually are), holding a pink phone in one hand, and flicking his bangs with the other.

Flick, flick.

Flick, flick.

So strange.

But nothing, prepared me for this sight: walking past the local salon to see a man sitting in the chair with a head full of curlers.

Um, WHAT??

It’s jericurl, 2010 Korea style. For reals, y’all.

I thought, naively, that some Koreans must have curly hair, because so many of them are rockin’ the locks. Not so much, everyone – from 3 year old girl to 45 year old man, has a perm.

Very…different.