Anyone who has ever gone hiking in Korea knows that “wilderness” is a term used loosely. Even from our vantage point, you could still make out the apartment buildings below, shimmering in the daytime heat. Occasionally the sounds of distant building construction would wind their way up the mountain, carried by updrafts, disturbing the peace of the afternoon. But for the most part, my hillside was quiet, distant from the interruptions of traffic noise and too many people, the living ones at least. As with most hillsides in Korea, we were sharing our view with a few burial mounds just down the slope from the tent. I’ll take quiet neighbors over noisy ones any day.

The afternoon slid forward like time tends to in summer- measured by heat and the location of the sun, not in hours. I made cordage to stay busy and then settled in to read a book until I felt hungry enough to try to make a cooking fire. As the sun neared the horizon, Jonathan and I both stirred from our afternoon stupor and, without words, began the competition for who could make first fire. In the style of the great Les Stroud, we were equipped only with flint and steel. We scraped together little piles of tinder and sent spark after spark flying at the piles of fluff. Pig Slayer sat to the side, our new companion. Fifteen minutes went by until Jonathan’s pile started to smoke, and with another spark, he had flame. Most would have accepted defeat, but I’m a stubborn broad, and continued to set my flint sparking at my tinder pile. Thirty more minutes passed, and my fingers were blistering from the steel sparker. “Maybe you…” Jonathan started. “Hush,” I cut him off. Thirty-five minutes passed and I sat back on my heels, sighed, wiped sweat from my forehead, and Jonathan handed me a lighter. Damnit all.

We made hobo pies of mixed vegetables and Korean pork. We laughed at the irony and nodded our mouthfuls at Pig Slayer and washed it all down with cheap box wine. The sun set simply over the mountains, casting the valley below us into a rosy blush and the lights from the apartment buildings below sparkled in the colors of precious stones and neon. The occasional construction noises from earlier had traded out with a lone saxophone, winding a sweet and slow melody up the hillside. Eventually, we let the fire burn low, finished off our glasses of wine and headed to the tent. I read for a while and remarked on how loud a dog seemed, barking and bitching in the distance. I read a story about demons out loud, honoring the camping tradition of ghost stories, and eventually fell into sleep. Pig Slayer guarded the tent.

Camping alone isn’t like camping in a campground, there aren’t other familiar noises to keep your sleeping ears calm and sleeping. Instead, the part of us that remembers when we used to be prey, wakes at the slightest unfamiliar shuffle in the leaves or creak of a branch. And so it went for three hours, startling awake every hour to the tiniest sound of a mouse or a possum.

Until, in the darkest part of night, I heard something approach the tent, coming from my side. It was big enough for me to feel the vibrations of its footfalls through the ground. My heart jump-started in my chest, by body froze and my ears strained to hear anything at all. I heard Jonathan’s breathing quicken behind me and knew he was listening, too. Suddenly, an angry snort disturbed the silence from less than 20 feet away and thundering hoof-falls carried the massive beast back to the wood line. There, less than 50 feet from the tent, the unseen thing halted. Then, from its monstrous throat, ripped a deafening bark, shaking all of the forest into stillness and tearing through the night air. It bellowed again. Shit.

Suddenly images of a red-eyed, slobbering HOGZILLA with razor sharp tusks jumped into my mind, as I heard more rustling in the leaves on the other hillside- another one? My huge hunk of Norwegian man-beast cowered behind me in the tent. My hero.

The howling and bitching and general “you aren’t welcome” noises continued as the demon razorback retreated to its hillside. With two seconds to spare and Pig Slayer in hand, we packed up the tent, picked up another beatin’ stick, and ran down the mountain in the pitch black of 2:30 AM like the devil was on our tail. Once we were certain Hogzilla wasn’t going to gore us from behind, we slowed our pace and marched on through the night to the tune of “That Loving Feeling” sung at the top of our lungs.  Wouldn’t want to sneak up on anything…

“You know,” Jonathan said later as we debriefed on the couch, “if we hadn’t named the spear Pig Slayer, Tyrannoboarus-Rex never would have shown up.” We pondered this thought for a while. It turns out that the Korean variety of wild boar, Sus scrufa ussurius, is the largest in the world, with the rare specimen reaching upwards of 600 lbs. The beast really could have mangled us if it had decided to do so. No amount of tent mesh can convince me otherwise. Maybe we did beckon it from deep in the woods. I mean really, making a spear and naming it Pig Slayer and then laughing about it all night long…. You just can’t tempt Nature like that. You can’t give her the opportunity to humble you, she won’t hesitate.

Thoughts from a letter today:

Spring is creeping slowly into South Korea- warmer than 50 most days and the river is full. Trees are blushing a bit- ready to put on leaves.  The snow is melting down out of the mountains, leaving them dark along the skyline. I’m 6 months (1/2-way) through my contract teaching here and it’s time to write.

I wonder about other people in other places… visitors for a period of time. What satisfaction they took from daily life, the people they got to become a part of, how they felt when they woke up each day in that foreign non-home place- in the beginning when all was new and then later, when life away was normal and every day. I wonder what those people missed from home and what came home with them at the end of it all- ideas, new eyes, memories, gifts.

Korea has been perspective for me; the other side of the world, so far away, is so much like our own in small moments- parallel, perhaps. We’re all the same species, after all. Social life is much different, as is the food (sometimes as it tries to crawl off your plate…), and ways that the culture here displays modesty. Naked women lay on each other and scrub each other like there’s no tomorrow at the jimjilbang, but men and women can have little or no physical contact in public without being shamed by an elder. No kissing in public, yet a business man, married or not, can take a woman to a love motel for a quickie, so long as no one sees. Don’t show your shoulders in a revealing tank top in public, even when you’re strolling through the sex park gazing at statues of people in various sexual positions.

I’m here at a time of cultural turnover- how interesting! The younger generations are evolving quickly while elders hold up Confucian ideals, Buddhist prayers, and hard work ethics… self-sustaining on farms, family homes, traditional family values, temples and a patriarchy that’s powerful and old.

Korea has gone through a huge industrial revolution in the past 30 years (South Korea at least), bringing their economic strength from poverty to a Western Boom, providing massive pathways for Western culture and ideas to funnel in. Now we have youth driving a huge technology and electronics bandwagon, bringing with it wealth, urbanization, women’s rights, and abandonment of tradition. That’s sad to me in some ways… a general watering down of the colorful history this place holds. Though I’m not sure you can so easily strike at the core of such a homogenized country. Bloodlines run old and deep, and with that, perhaps Korea will remain Korea even in the face of development. The good and the not.

Bloodlines- being in a country where half-breeds and mutts are rare at best, it’s interesting to see what a Korean child thinks about their place in the world.  Every day I get to ask my students about their global perspective, and some things amaze me.  All of Korea is Korean in ancestry (to generalize), meaning black, slanting eyes, olive skin, black straight hair, broad flat noses, little body hair, and slim statures on smaller frames than many Americans.

According to not just my students, to have curly hair at all, Korean or otherwise, means your hair is permed. My students asked me where I got my hair permed… haha. To be Korean means you were born in Korea. They apply that to everyone else, too. To see a black person here is to see someone FROM (born in) Africa. The idea that black people also come from North America, South America, Europe etc… is foreign to them. A black friend of mine told me about a body scrub she got from an Ahjumma (older married woman) at the jimjilbang. She laughed and told me she thought they were trying to scrub the black off her.

I asked my students what color my skin was. As an Italian, my olive skin matches theirs, but my students told me I was white/orange. I asked them what their skin color was and they told me “skin tone”. I think it’s all so interesting.

There is a deep vein of national pride here that I’m convinced the USA, a melting pot of brand new mutts, can’t really grasp or relate to.

Despite being a foreigner, different from the vast wall of “them” by so much, I’ve still experienced hospitality like no where else. Students and parents of students give us gifts so often as a means of saying thank you or out of respect. Fruit, home-cooked dishes, small trinkets, or even larger gifts of bath soaps, chocolates, boxes of laver (grilled and salted seaweed used in Korean food and given as gifts for New Years), or box sets of canola oil and the Korean delicacy, Spam. Families invite us to dinner or over for coffee. One mother found out we were going out to eat and insisted on paying for our lunch even though she wouldn’t be joining us. Total strangers have called friends to help us find where we’re going, and shop owners have waited with us outside to see us onto the correct bus home- all unexpected and heart-warming.

I have to warn you, however, don’t put your guard down. Ahjummas have frickin’ sharp elbows when it comes to making it through a crowd or getting on and off the subway, without so much as a “sorry” or “excuse me”. I’ve learned to drop my shoulder into the blow. And they’ll hock one hell of a loogie on your shoes if you aren’t careful where you step. All of these opposing values make me love living here all the more.

I’m not sure where I’ll end up when I get back, but Montana and the desert Southwest have their hooks in me for now- some desolate wilderness and natural beauty. There are too many frickin’ people everywhere around here. I’d like a little peace and quiet…

Banka Boat

Sunset found us pulling into Puerto Galera, Mindoro without a plan. However, thanks to Abdul, an over-eager trike driver, we found our way to Franklyn Highland Resort where we had reservations for the following night.

A note about trikes: Trikes are little motorbikes with a roof and a ding-wopped sidecar attached to them. At any given moment you can expect to see 2-15 locals being shuttled somewhere or another on/in/on the back/roof of one of these vehicles. That’s quite a feat considering Jonathan had to get in touch with his inner contortionist just to fit in the side-car. Locals pay 20-30 pesos ($0.40-$0.60) for a ride. However, as a tourist, you can expect to pay the “you’re not from around here” fee of five times that, and that goes for just about everything else if you aren’t willing to barter (Honey, we’re not in Mankato anymore).

Franklyn Beach Resort is up in the hills next to Muelle Bay, overlooking the ocean and the mountains to the east. All of the buildings are made from palm, bamboo, wood and thatch, making them beautiful, but not very sound proof. After out next door neighbor decided a prostitute would be a good Christmas present to himself, we decided to move up the hill to a quieter corner of the resort. We spent our two days there snorkeling in the crystal clear waters and visiting the little towns nearby. The weather was a perfect 80 degrees, flowers were in bloom and the sky was as clear as the water. Fireworks punctuated every hour, celebrating the holiday, and little children sang carols for extra change outside of restaurants and on the sidewalks.

Chuck, our host at Franklyn Resort and a local family man, helped us organize our plans for the rest of our trip. Nothing raises a red flag quite like Chuck telling you “No one goes that way.” Excuse me, Chuck? “No one goes that way. I don’t even think there’s a road over there.” But…… “Let’s go see the Chief of Police and see what he has to say.” Okay, Chuck. (Honey, we’re not in Mankato anymore).

So, after we met mister Chief of Police, and he assured us that we wouldn’t be strung up by the local Mangyan tribes and that yes, indeed, there’s a road that goes west around Mindoro, we ventured towards our next destination. A trike and a banka boat ride along the coast later we arrived in Abre De Ilog where we were ushered along by over-eager trike drivers once again. We found our man who, for 500 pesos ($10 for the both of us), agreed to drive us the 36 kilometers to Mamburao, our destination for the night. Once again, Jonathan folded himself into the sidecar and I hopped on the back behind the driver.

Cross-Country trikes

A trike is quite the way to experience the country side, once you stop worrying about whether it’s going to make it up the next hill or not. We followed the National Highway (HA!) through fields of rice and vegetables, flooded and accented with the occasional family farm water buffalo or hog. (Honey, we’re not in Mankato anymore). Winding through the jungle-covered hills, back towards the ocean, we finally arrived at the family-run Palm Beach Resort in Mamburao on Tayamaan Beach. Again, our time spent there was mostly in the crystal-clear water, chasing fish or creeping along looking for shells. Videoke (the Pilipino amped-up version of karaoke found in every shack, shed, or home) rang out from everywhere at every hour as families celebrated the holidays together. (Honey, we’re not in…. yeah I know.)

The next day we took a “van” (term again used loosely- see definition of “ferry” and apply here) to Sablayan for 300 pesos per head. We hung our heads out the window as the “van” belched fumes into the back seat through the speaker (wha?) and gazed out at the lush country side for our three hour trek over the alternately paved, unpaved, and washed out National Highway. We arrived in Sablayan, dust caked to our bodies, and took a trike to the pier. From there we shared a banka boat with a French couple to Pandan Island, our final destination. Julia and Antoine would become our dinner companions for our five days on Pandan.

Pandan Island is a dream-destination for scuba divers, snorkelers, and back to nature types. It sits on the edge of the pristine Apo Reef, a marine park home to over 500 species of coral. Nested in that coral are just as many species of fish, sea snakes, sea turtles, sharks, sting rays, and yet to be named sea critters, making Apo Reef one of the top dive and snorkel sites in the world. The resort runs by generator only with salt water showers, a dive shop, and open-air bungalows, dining hall and beach bar. Because of its small size and relative isolation from the developed world, it’s a peaceful island, inhabited only by the staff of the resort.

Sunsets on Pandan

That first afternoon on the island, after easing the tension of travel with a gin and lime, and moving into our bungalow, we headed for the ocean to rinse off. Barefooted, per usual, we wore our goggles and headed for the coral beds just off shore. Amazing water clarity and astoundingly colorful ocean life greeted us there. After a minute or two, we realized we’d found “Lion Fish Den” as labeled on the map. Lion fish are non-aggressive relatives of the stone fish and are decorated with elegant brown and cream frills, which hide highly poisonous spines. They drifted in the nooks and crannies of the coral beds 2-3 meters below us. Eventually we made our way back in to shore, creeping along in the shallows on our bellies looking for shells. It was then that Jonathan stood up, bolted out of the water and shouted to me “I just got stung by a lion fish! How bad is it?” Are you kidding? “No! I accidently kicked one while I was swimming. What do I do??” Well… can you pee on it? “No, I already went in the water.” Oh. Guess we better take you to the dive shop.

Toe bleeding, we got Mr. Clubfoot to the dive shop in time to catch Antony, lion fish sting expert. He managed to de-activate the poison by near-boiling Jonathan’s foot in searing hot water. By doing so, he prevented the painful reaction from traveling any further into Jonathan’s body. His foot swelled up to 1/3 larger than his other one and stayed that way for two days. Way to go, big guy, day one on Pandan Island: Success. Later that night, as we headed for bed, I thought for one final time, we’re not in Mankato anymore. “Honey, there’s a duck in our room”…

The rest of our time on Pandan was spent watching beautiful sunsets over the ocean, relaxing in hammocks, visiting with the other couples and families at the resort, and swimming with sea life as we cautiously drifted with snorkels and flippers in the water. Blue spotted sting rays, hawks bill and green sea turtles, banded sea snakes, parrot fish, angel fish, bat fish, and trigger fish are just a few of the species that we were able to enjoy on our trip. One special evening, under a full moon, we had the privilege of watching a nest of baby hawksbill sea turtles hatch. Jonathan shares their birthday.

New Years was a big event on the island. The owners shipped in a set of speakers, and after an award-worthy hog roast, they pumped up ABBA and got the crowd dancing. Later, we welcomed in 2010 with fireworks flying over the ocean to the tune of “Another One Bites the Dust”. Perfect.

January 1st marked our departure date. We took a banka back to Sablayan in the morning and after a bit of a wait at the bus stop, finally boarded our air-conditioned bus to Manila, the Dimple Star. For 800 pesos per person, it took us from Sablayan to Abre De Ilog, onto a RORO “ferry”, then on the other side from Batangas City to Manila. We spent the night at a hotel in Malate. The next day we checked out of the hotel and spent nine hours waiting for our flight at the Robinsons mega-mall. We finally caught a taxi to the airport and the whole way listened to our driver sing “I Don’t Care” in perfect soprano. We boarded our midnight flight back to Seoul, took the airport bus home and promptly passed out for six hours, purely content.

We’re entering our fifth month as English teachers here in Namyang-Ju, South Korea. Our students continue to frustrate and endear themselves to us, in equal parts. We are still getting new students every week, with more and more entertaining English names for us to enjoy. Lion, Major, Cherry, Spanny, Ester, Atom, and Princess are a few of my favorites. Currently, however, we’re juggling the schedule for next semester, which begins in April, and will see where the pieces land.

Our weeks have settled into a bit of a groove. We teach no more than five hours in the day, leaving time for a morning work-out, a walk over to the market, and my two newest obsessions: Korean internet shopping (they deliver overnight!) and X-files. I watch X-files before I go to bed and haven’t had a normal dream in weeks. Thank god Jonathan shares in that passion with me or he wouldn’t be quite so understanding about me mumbling “The truth is out there” in my sleep.

Noraebang

We take time on our weekends to venture out. We took a trip last weekend to visit our friends in Cheongju, a town about three hours away from us. Fantastic public transportation makes for an easy ride, and if you happen to be tired from staying awake until 5:00 in the morning, singing your heart out to “Sweet Caroline” in a noraebang (the Korean version of karaoke in a private room with four of your best friends, complete with disco lights, also often a business outing for colleagues—USA hop on that bandwagon!!!), then a nice soothing bus ride is just what the doctor ordered. Seoul is also easy to access for a movie, an art show, a trip to a sauna, a palace or other cultural center, or to explore any one of the many markets the city has to offer. We recently discovered other westerners in our little corner of Korea, so we haven’t had to travel as far to re-vamp our English skills in our free time.

For Thanksgiving we hosted friends at our apartment and managed to pull off a relatively true to form holiday. Shortly after that we started making preparations for our Christmas trip to the Philippines.

After living somewhere long enough, even somewhere as bizarre as South Korea can be, you find that eventually the “W-O-W” factor wears off a bit and you’re left going about a daily routine as you would anywhere else. It’s in these times that it takes a really special moment or two to catch your attention and make you say “Honey, we’re not in Mankato anymore”. That’s right folks, the naked people at the saunas? The shredded squid jerky served at the movies? The chunky smoked octopus tentacles sold by the street vendors? The magnetic conveyor belt that carries me and my cart up and down between the floors at Home Plus? The high heels with tights, jean shorts, and clashing patterns of checkered t-shirt, fur-lined jacket and polka-dot scarf worn by every young lady in town? The 100 MPH+ taxi rides through Seoul? The old men (or women) holding hands on their way to morning breakfast? The silkworm larvae served as bar snacks? They all have a wow factor has been reduced to merely “charming”. It’s true, I have ceased to guffaw, gasp, gulp, or even giggle at the sight of such afore-awe-inspiring gems (at least, I normally don’t…anymore). It’s for this reason, that our trip to the Philippines was such a refreshing experience.

Dressed as a witch with doingers on my head, elongated fingers, and fake nose, I greeted my little darlings at the door. They rolled in one-by-one: a princess, a tai-kwon-do master, a princess, a wizard, a princess, a wizard (sensing a theme?) and several with decorated medical masks on up-side down and doingers on their heads. I was blissed out.

As the shrieks rang out from the haunted classroom, my co-teachers and I giggled our way through the day. Then it came time to deal with our older students who are fluent and enlightened enough to ask “Why”. And boy did I try to explain the thinning of the veil between the land of the dead and our own… and had one hell of a time helping 12 year olds understand why dressing like a goblin keeps you safe from the ghosts and why skeletons and scary pumpkins on your lawn are wonderful and necessary and why it’s great to go door to door asking for candy. Some days I love my job.

Later that night I found myself walking in good company under an umbrella searching for a camping store. On the subway, foreigners dressed as hookers and cavemen got the attention they were seeking in significant helpings. We avoided Itaewon (foreigner central) like the plague, and strolled merrily through the haunted streets of Seoul.

October has been a great month in Korea. Autumn is rolling through in true form and the social scene has picked up significantly. It’s far easier to make connections here– people who speak the same language seem to stick. One night out in Hongdae may score you great music, awesome food, and 10 new friends, all willing to follow through on plans. Those friends inevitably have more friends, and there you have it– suddenly you’ve met the 1/2 of Wisconsin that seems to have relocated to South Korea (REPRESENT!).

My realization that all of South Korea is less than HALF the size of Minnesota spurred some real travel-lust. You can get ANYWHERE in 4 hours. That being said, we made plans to head to Muui-do (an island off the west shore of Incheon) the second weekend in October. A 5 AM airport limousine bus from Namyang-ju to Incheon International Airport, an 8 AM bus from the airport to the ferry, the 8:45 AM ferry to Muui-do and the 9 AM local bus to Hanagae Beach found us basking in sunlight on a sandy beach overlooking receding tides. The “West Sea” (known to most foreigners as the Yellow Sea), is a murky cold ocean between Korea and China. The tide recedes along the west coast of Korea to expose mudflats, sometimes as far as the eye can see. This is in contrast to the clear and rocky (still cold) waters of the “East Sea” (Yep, that’s the Sea of Japan).

Along Hanagae Beach, there are seafood restaurants and the beach itself is dotted with elevated bungalows (tin shacks) you can rent for an afternoon or a night. They come complete with bedding and electricity, making them perfect for beach bum hijinks. Because of it’s relative vicinity to Seoul, westerners still dot the beach, much to my annoyance, in full noisy obnoxious glory. However, sheer numbers are low and people are easy to escape– there is PLENTY of beautiful sandy beach.

Upon our arrival, we noticed the water was roped off and groups of locals were gathering nearby. We putzed down the sand to find a place to drop our packs and played in the nearby tidal pools, waiting for the bungalow rental shop to open. We climbed around on the rocks far down the beach and noticed out across the kilometer-wide band of mud-flats the fishing nets now being exposed by the receding tides. The crowds of people grew larger behind the roped off section and announcements began to play over a loud speaker. Before I knew it, as I perched on my distant rocky vantage point, a whistle was blown and hundreds of locals busted ass out across the mud flats in a mucky race to the fishing nets. We arrived on Muui-do on the one day of the year when the locals get to harvest the day’s catch.

We shouldered our packs and walked back towards civilization as hordes of fair-weather fishermen piled back onto the beach.We encountered smiling muddy Korean after smiling muddy Korean, hauling still flopping bags filled with piles of fish. One man, with a huge Santa Clause sack, stopped and grinned for a picture. Afterwards he told us he had too many fish and offered us a couple. I graciously accepted his gift, had my picture taken with him and thought- What A  WONDERFUL Day! Now what the hell do I do with this fish?

We strolled back to the restaurants and ordered what we thought were fish fillets, but turned out to be 5 pounds of sushi. After eating as much as I could handle, we ordered soup and cooked the rest in the boiling broth. Our stomachs full, the rest of the day was spent basking in the sun, napping in the sand, and wading, knee-deep, through mudflat muck, searching out critters. Sunset was amazing and simple. As we tucked ourselves into our bungalow that night, the sounds of a small drunken clot of westerners rode on the lapping of the waves.

Day two on Muui-do found us seeking a quieter beach. With breakfast in our bellies, we threw on our packs and headed down the sand with the plan for bush-whacking it to Silmi Beach- the north beach of Muui-do looking towards Silmi-do that is lesser known to foreigners. A mis-adventure into the mountains found us back down ocean-side, picking our careful way along the sharp coral and stone cliffs of the beach. Two hours later found us within sight of Silmi Beach, absolutely no foreigners, and a rocky receding tide. What a beautiful sight! We rented a tiny room (with private bathroom) for $30 and began to explore. A small rock walk-way was revealed as the ocean pulled away and we stayed dry as we crossed over to Silmi-do. The dark past of acting as a prison leaves Silmi-do with a few interesting ruins and a nice north-side beach. A short walk takes you across the island and back.

On our way back, I soaked up the atmosphere. Older women skimmed across the top of the mudflats on their knees, riding foot-propelled wooden boards acting as mud surfboards. Their hands felt in the muck for critters that they pulled up and plopped into bowls– doomed for the soup pot. Little boys and girls poked at critters on the foot path and a woman stood guard over a self-made pool of sea water holding three little octopi she’d gathered- 5 bucks a piece. On the beach stood two groups of Koreans, battling it out over a time-honored traditional game of Tug O’ War. Silmi Beach won my heart.

We went back to the room, grabbed a nap, and soon sought out some supper. We dined on grilled clams and fish and toasted the owner of the restaurant with glasses of soju. As the sun lowered out over the ocean, our last night on the island came to a close. I slept hard and happy in our little room that night. The next morning at dawn we hiked the 20 minutes back to the ferry terminal as the sun rose over boats laying like beached whales out on the mud flats. We made it back via bus to Namyang-ju just in time to teach my afternoon classes.

 
Since those first few days, I’ve had plenty of adventures. Take for instance the karaoke disco party we had in a famous Korean golf-star’s party van (Jonathan, “Help” never sounded so great), or watching a woman play keyboard and sing along to an engrish version of Unchained Melody. Perhaps going to the bath houses after a night out, being given straight MSG to sprinkle on my soup, or bartering with a man in Namdaemun market for an eel skin wallet are also on the “adventures” list. Included would be taking my first hike in this country and ending up in numerous family’s private family cemeteries, eating chicken feet, fish guts, silk worm larvae (cooked), squid, octopus, and sea squirt, getting spam and canola oil as a holiday gift, teaching students with “English names” such as Woody, Pandora, Spany, Edwin (he’s 5), Princess, Monkey and Major, and finally, watching a friend hit on a girl with the line “So, what’s your blood type?” which is as common here as asking someone their Zodiac sign.
Teaching has been a fly by the seat of your pants sort of thing, which has been stressful at times, but mostly hilarious. Many times I struggle with the frustrations of not knowing the language and not being able to tell the difference between “can I go to the bathroom?” and “your fly is unzipped”.  That’s where our Korean manager, the only other person in the office, comes into play. She’s the grand translator and family liaison.

My students are anywhere in age from 3 to 11, so they keep me on my toes.
All in all, the experience so far has been fantastic, though I do miss friends and family. Month number one has been a success as far as cultural awareness, personal growth, and not getting lost on the subway are concerned. Here’s to a continuation of such success.

A 14 hour flight bound for Incheon was in itself an eye-opening experience about what we were about to dive face-first into. After our refreshing hot towels, we were given the options of “Beef” or “Korean Meal” for supper, so Jonathan and I picked one of each. It turns out the “Beef” was just as Korean as the “Korean Meal” with its sesame seed-oiled cucumber and raw fish as sides to what could have been beef stroganoff. All it lacked was the noodle bowl, read hot pepper paste, and seaweed soup found on Jonathan’s plate.

Once at the airport, our bags arrived unharmed. The whole process almost went off without a hitch, save the fact that Jonathan had his brand new 8-inch “camping” knife confiscated by customs. Evidently they don’t allow weapons into the country. Outside we found our ride, Gon, waiting for us with our names perfectly spelled on a card. On the ride to Namjang-ju City (Jin-jeob neighborhood) we discussed the finer art of killing your food while you eat it. And then we met our apartment. Now, a moment for details…

 • We can see the mountains, a river, and the city from our high-rise balcony.

• I spent 30 minutes giggling while sitting on the toilet pushing all of the buttons on its remote-control.

• Our apartment is beautifully elegant and functional, Brand New, fully furnished, has a tub and an oven, and has more hidden storage space than I can shake a stick at.

• We are on the 12th floor, last building, in the corner, so every room (except the bathrooms) has a sliding glass door that opens onto a “balcony”.

We had the first night to go out and find dinner on our own. We chose a traditional restaurant just down the street, which meant we took our shoes off when we entered and Jonathan had the joy of figuring out how to elegantly tuck his 6’4” frame under the low table while we were seated on the floor (ondol seating). With much pointing, smiles, and bowing we were able to order this massive, mysterious, steaming pot of goodness, which was set on a burner recessed into the table between Jonathan and I. Wow, I think I’m gonna like this.

This morning, we set out to find breakfast and the internet. After a steaming bowl of spicy noodles, we found a building with “PC” written on the side, and did what any tourist would do, set up shop outside and scanned for free wireless. There, with Jonathan as my desk, we scrolled out a quick word to families to inform them of our safe arrival. On our way home, out on the street, we stopped to buy treats. Boy, am I happy that sign language seems to transcend most language barriers.

We made it back to the apartment in time to meet our manager, who filled us in on some interesting details:

• We are in quarantine for the next 7 days and are to avoid contact with the public for fear of transmission of the swine flu (that’s still around?).

• We will begin work on the 7th of September.

• We live in a language village, which means we work and live in this same apartment complex, teaching students whose families also live here. By “5-minute commute” they literally meant, “Walk to the next building”.

• Our students may be anywhere in age from 3-adults.

• Jonathan and I will not be working with a Korean teacher, so if need be, we can collaborate with each other for some of our younger classes.

• And finally, Hyen turns to me and says, “You two ARE married here,” or at least that is what we are to tell everyone out of respect for the Korean culture. Okay.

After our new rules, Hyen took us grocery shopping (boy was that an adventure) and left us on our own. With a cart full of what we assumed was edible matter, we made our way home, packed away groceries, and headed out for lunch. Again, it was a traditional restaurant with ondol seating. While Jonathan strategically positioned himself at the table, I ran outside with the waitress to point at a picture of what we thought looked like a wonderful seafood lunch, and then came back inside. They first brought out side dishes: brown tofu, dried squid in sesame sauce, vegetable pancakes, kimchi, sesame noodles, wasabi (I knew that one), and a sweet apple salad. Then came the pot of food.

Now, when I first looked at the picture hanging on the wall outside, of all of the delicious seafood that was to come, I had the impression that I could name everything in that picture (squid, octopus, clams, mussels, scallops, prawns, crab, radishes, bean sprouts), but when that bowl arrived I was struck speechless. Yes, all of the previously named items were there, in their full glory, but one dip with the ladle into the depths of the bowl brought to the surface unimaginable (and in my previous diet, inedible) items. I pulled my phrase book from my purse and managed to ask the waitress what one spirally noodle-looking thing was. Once we figured out she was saying “fish guts”, we decided to stop asking such silly questions.

And yet there were more… so many questionable items. We pressed forward like true troopers, and just started eating whatever looked interesting. Some savory bits encouraged my curiosity. It was at this point that I put a firm, meaty morsel into my mouth just to have it “POP!” between my teeth and squirt an unexpected fluid onto my tongue. Somehow it found its way back onto my plate, and I called it quits. Jonathan had a similar experience with the exact response.

Adventures off for the day, we came back to our apartment, our holding cell for the next 7 days, and decided that the best way to spend our time in captivity would be to get out the binoculars and start spying on the city. Tomorrow we have an appointment to get our Health Screening taken care of at the local hospital, one of the final steps in getting our Alien Registration Cards and being released from captivity. We get to ride the bus there. Perhaps I’ll have more to say about that. Cheers to an adventure, headspace, and a new awareness of the world. It’s going to be a beautiful year.

So, we got the job. Not in any of the ways that we expected, but we now have some guidelines and life is beginning to sift past us at an alarming pace.

Ask Now, the Canadian organization that was supposed to be finding us jobs really started crapping out on us. They gave us excuse after excuse about why the job search was taking so long while repeatedly asking us how serious we were about going to Korea. I was under the impression that, after spending 5 months in contact with them, ending our lease around our supposed leave date, and pestering them endlessly about whether there were any hits, we had already given them a pretty clear idea of our levels of dedication.  Talk about flushing your confidence down the drain. SO! Finally, last Friday night we got fed up with it. My good friend, Marie, who is currently there, sent us another job searching link and the rest of the story went like this:

1. Sent our resumes to 3 positions at 2:20 pm on Friday.

2. By 8:00 pm we made contact with a school outside of Seoul.

3. By 10:00 the next morning (Saturday) we were interviewing with our potential boss over the phone.

4. At 10:30 Saturday morning we were offered the job.

5. At 10:30 Sunday morning we finalized the contract (Thank You Skype, for making inter-continental phonecalls so easy and free).

6. At 2:00 pm Monday we sent all of our visa documents to their office in Korea and they are now scheduling our flight into Incheon for around the 28th of August (2 and 1/2 weeks from today).

Ask Now- stick that in your juice box and suck it. Jonathan and I can’t help but feel we were being jerked around. It’s amazing what can be done if you just do things for yourself. And it’s not terribly difficult to find positions on your own. We used the link www.worknplay.co.kr and found listings upon listings of eager schools, waiting to make contacts.

So now! We have a three bedroom apartment with two bathrooms and a balcony that overlooks Jin Jub, a neighborhood that is part of the mega-city of Seoul. Jonathan and I will both be working for a Lingua-run private school 5 minutes away from our apartment. We will be teaching English to elementary school-aged children and may have an adult class on the side. Our hours will be from 2:00 pm to 9:00 pm. We have two weeks of vacation, transportation to and from the country, housing, and 1/2 of the price of our medical insurance provided. We’ll also be getting paid 2,500,000 Won (about $2,030) per month with a severance package of one month’s pay when we complete our contract. This is all standard for private schools in South Korea.

Now that we have a job, we get to “git down” and bust our butts to be ready to leave by August 28th. My mom and I are planning a 4-day girl’s trip to Northern Minnesota while Jonathan is home for 10 days, working. In the mean, I am packing up the apartment, preparing to move our things to storage at my parents house. We also have to clean the apartment, schedule a trip to Chicago to finalize our visas, see our families and friends, work the last few days of our summer jobs, and pack for an entire year! What an experience!

Our feet are in wet concrete, waiting for it to dry… wondering what it will feel like to be grounded in South Korea. Wondering what head-space will be like in our new country.

Empty.. and in such a full season.

Spring once again bringing me into a season of life that is full and beautiful. In the sunshine, my life reflects opaque and all there. Nearly glittering. But the shadow proves the sunshine, and true to form, the dark is where the rest of me wanders… the leftovers and the loose ends, here in the middle of the night.

Perhaps my late transition, like a disturbance in water, is what stirs the sediment… washes up the muck and the myre to mingle with the clarity. I know it’s about that time, like clockwork in the life of Sandy Pockets, a wandering pocketbook vagabond. Soon a thunderstorm will settle the dust. But for tonight, I’m awake with a heavy mind.