Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Cheosak, Seoraksan, Climbing, Camping and Busing
The days roll by and my English gets progressively s-l-o-w-e-r, due the fact that slower might help make me understood. I have yet to see the benefits of sounding stupid.
I have however taken to my habit of frantic weekend warrior bus rides with hundred pound packs in order to camp and climb surrounded by green trees and laughs from lips of new acquaintances. Sweat and stink are relished comforts and showers seem foreign after the two day pause-from-reality binge. Oh, how could I live without it?
This past weekend I was fortunate enough to grace the green space of jagged peaks like tyrannosaurus teeth in Korea's most famous and often considered most beautiful, Seoraksan National Park. Our Multi-pitch team of 3 girls (Kat, Lindsay and myself) and rope gun Jonathan the German exploited stowed energy from servings of bibimbap (mixed fungus and seaweed rice bowl) to propel us up a trad-slab-crack-chimney 7 pitch heaven. Tough. We all grunted and groaned through our sincere smiles as we pulled on aid slings and hung on hanging belay death triangles!!! (not really deadly - they just appeared that way. Come on, safety first and obviously we survived to tell the story!)
Monday was Cheosak (Thanksgiving), the biggest Korean holiday of the year, deserving no less than a three-day long weekend. On this particular holiday Monday, the punctual local bus swept Daphne, I and our hundred pound packs away as our breath was left in the dust (I have to emphasis the heaviness of our back breaking packs - we need to pack smarter) So close to the rocky beasts that engulf sky and vibe is the beach. The Sea of Japan. It hugs the coast of Sokcho, the hip and salty town in the north of Gangwon-do which gets you pretty close to the infamous border of North Korea. Mind the barbed wire.
I have however taken to my habit of frantic weekend warrior bus rides with hundred pound packs in order to camp and climb surrounded by green trees and laughs from lips of new acquaintances. Sweat and stink are relished comforts and showers seem foreign after the two day pause-from-reality binge. Oh, how could I live without it?
This past weekend I was fortunate enough to grace the green space of jagged peaks like tyrannosaurus teeth in Korea's most famous and often considered most beautiful, Seoraksan National Park. Our Multi-pitch team of 3 girls (Kat, Lindsay and myself) and rope gun Jonathan the German exploited stowed energy from servings of bibimbap (mixed fungus and seaweed rice bowl) to propel us up a trad-slab-crack-chimney 7 pitch heaven. Tough. We all grunted and groaned through our sincere smiles as we pulled on aid slings and hung on hanging belay death triangles!!! (not really deadly - they just appeared that way. Come on, safety first and obviously we survived to tell the story!)
Monday was Cheosak (Thanksgiving), the biggest Korean holiday of the year, deserving no less than a three-day long weekend. On this particular holiday Monday, the punctual local bus swept Daphne, I and our hundred pound packs away as our breath was left in the dust (I have to emphasis the heaviness of our back breaking packs - we need to pack smarter) So close to the rocky beasts that engulf sky and vibe is the beach. The Sea of Japan. It hugs the coast of Sokcho, the hip and salty town in the north of Gangwon-do which gets you pretty close to the infamous border of North Korea. Mind the barbed wire.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tomatoes?
I have yet to begin teaching in all its sincerity. Because I am teaching at 4 different schools (yes, 4), I have many people to meet and systems to learn. At least the powers that be are allowing me this time to soak up the whos and whats and hows.
I visited the Principal's office today. Choi Jong-Sung was ever so delighted to try and communicate with me in one word English intermittently broken through a stream of fast fire Korean. In our short but smiled faced visit, I learned and understood little. "Tomatoes" was one word that he kept repeating. I tried to decipher the relevance of "tomatoes" within our discussion, but the reason would soon be answered as he motioned me to follow him.
We walked out of his plush office filled with leather seats for each teacher, through the white sulfur scented halls and down the stairs through the back door of the school, quite a large school I might add for a village of 3000. Out the back of the school, surrounded by rich farm land were two large, well tended greenhouses. "Tomatoes?" I asked. A huge smile reached across his face from ear to ear and a short chuckle escaped his lips. "Yes, my work" he said. I was too smiling in my own right as the connection had been made. There they were, under the humid white umbrellas, vines upon vines of ripe red tomatoes. In my mind, I was quickly transported to the rural prairies of Saskatchewan with a twist. He began combing the vines for the biggest, juiciest red fruits. As he picked them with diligent care, he handed them to me. When his excitement had subsided a little, we added the tomatoes that were spilling from my arms to another box that was already full. Then he gave the box to me and said "Your house".
He had just given me a huge box full of Korean tomatoes, a box I would never eat before they would go bad. The continuous generosity of the Korean people impresses me greatly. It helps with my slap in the face culture shock that I experience daily.
I have since brainstormed on all the wonderful things I can do with these tomatoes. First, the majority, sun-dried tomatoes, just like the sun-dried chili peppers that fill the sidewalks with bursts of red on the corner of every street. Then, the ever missed fresh salsa Mexicana, pasta sauce, tomato juice, etc. If you have any ideas, let me know.
I visited the Principal's office today. Choi Jong-Sung was ever so delighted to try and communicate with me in one word English intermittently broken through a stream of fast fire Korean. In our short but smiled faced visit, I learned and understood little. "Tomatoes" was one word that he kept repeating. I tried to decipher the relevance of "tomatoes" within our discussion, but the reason would soon be answered as he motioned me to follow him.
We walked out of his plush office filled with leather seats for each teacher, through the white sulfur scented halls and down the stairs through the back door of the school, quite a large school I might add for a village of 3000. Out the back of the school, surrounded by rich farm land were two large, well tended greenhouses. "Tomatoes?" I asked. A huge smile reached across his face from ear to ear and a short chuckle escaped his lips. "Yes, my work" he said. I was too smiling in my own right as the connection had been made. There they were, under the humid white umbrellas, vines upon vines of ripe red tomatoes. In my mind, I was quickly transported to the rural prairies of Saskatchewan with a twist. He began combing the vines for the biggest, juiciest red fruits. As he picked them with diligent care, he handed them to me. When his excitement had subsided a little, we added the tomatoes that were spilling from my arms to another box that was already full. Then he gave the box to me and said "Your house".
He had just given me a huge box full of Korean tomatoes, a box I would never eat before they would go bad. The continuous generosity of the Korean people impresses me greatly. It helps with my slap in the face culture shock that I experience daily.
I have since brainstormed on all the wonderful things I can do with these tomatoes. First, the majority, sun-dried tomatoes, just like the sun-dried chili peppers that fill the sidewalks with bursts of red on the corner of every street. Then, the ever missed fresh salsa Mexicana, pasta sauce, tomato juice, etc. If you have any ideas, let me know.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Taking it all in.
They really through you in the thick of it here in Korea. By taking the bus or any means of transportation, I am forced to rely on my childhood charade skills. Nervous laughter accompanies slow moving mouths, simple one word English (with incessant repetition) and stick man drawings to ensure I am understood. Even if they understand what I am asking, there is still the misunderstanding of why on earth I would want that!?! This is the cultural divide. Basing my other cultural reference point mostly on Mexico, even though you could never really begin to compare two insanely complex cultures as it would be next to impossible, schedules here seem to be more punctual in general. The air carries a fast paced energy and politeness is of utmost importance. People here treat their English teachers with great respect. I feel like royalty. In some small way, they believe we are the key to their country's future.
Being schooled on the many stages of culture shock, I am put in my place. Understanding the logic of the east on paper by no ens leaves me exempt from the stifling effects of the way things are. I can bravely admit that culture shock has me firmly in its clutches at present. The language barrier being at the forefront.
Today is Monday. On Saturday I courageously travelled outside my little village of 3000 to visit Daphne. She lives in Yeoungwol. Now I am headed back home. I am going to school today even though I have a week before I begin teaching. A week to plan, a week to adjust, a week to take it all in.
Being schooled on the many stages of culture shock, I am put in my place. Understanding the logic of the east on paper by no ens leaves me exempt from the stifling effects of the way things are. I can bravely admit that culture shock has me firmly in its clutches at present. The language barrier being at the forefront.
Today is Monday. On Saturday I courageously travelled outside my little village of 3000 to visit Daphne. She lives in Yeoungwol. Now I am headed back home. I am going to school today even though I have a week before I begin teaching. A week to plan, a week to adjust, a week to take it all in.
My first day in RURAL Gangwon-do, South Korea.
I was wearing little gold satin slippers when I heard a "rap rap rap" at the door. From behind the frosted glass window next to it came a soft voice with a thick Korean accent. "The Vice Principal wants to see you right now"
"He wants to see me now" I thought? I just woke up. I am in my pyjamas. Nonetheless, he couldn't wait until I arrived at the school and was excitedly standing at the front door of my home ready to greet me at 6:30 in the morning on the first day of school.
I arrived in South Korea 4 days ago. After our orientation for new foreign teachers in Seoul, I had felt I could really adapt to this. My long time friend and travel buddy, Daphne and I were with another four hundred other Native English speaking teachers ready to embark on another adventure of our lives. Now, I sit alone in Juncheon. I don't even know where I am and I have never heard of this place. Twelve hours ago, Daphne and I believed we would be teaching close to each other. Not teaching at the same school, but at least close enough to go for an evening stroll and discuss the intensities of being plunged into the unknown without a clue as how to communicate with the people around us. Shortly after this dream was shattered, we were ripped apart with hopeful looks of "will I ever see you again?" emanating from our confused faces as our sweet Korean Co-teachers pulled us into our respective cars and sped off. Apparently we would only be living forty minutes apart by car. By car! Neither of us had a car and in this deeply rural mountainous countryside in the province of Gangwon-do, buses would be much less than frequent.
"He wants to see me now" I thought? I just woke up. I am in my pyjamas. Nonetheless, he couldn't wait until I arrived at the school and was excitedly standing at the front door of my home ready to greet me at 6:30 in the morning on the first day of school.
I arrived in South Korea 4 days ago. After our orientation for new foreign teachers in Seoul, I had felt I could really adapt to this. My long time friend and travel buddy, Daphne and I were with another four hundred other Native English speaking teachers ready to embark on another adventure of our lives. Now, I sit alone in Juncheon. I don't even know where I am and I have never heard of this place. Twelve hours ago, Daphne and I believed we would be teaching close to each other. Not teaching at the same school, but at least close enough to go for an evening stroll and discuss the intensities of being plunged into the unknown without a clue as how to communicate with the people around us. Shortly after this dream was shattered, we were ripped apart with hopeful looks of "will I ever see you again?" emanating from our confused faces as our sweet Korean Co-teachers pulled us into our respective cars and sped off. Apparently we would only be living forty minutes apart by car. By car! Neither of us had a car and in this deeply rural mountainous countryside in the province of Gangwon-do, buses would be much less than frequent.
In the thick of Korean Madness, I am beginning to become accustomed to not knowing anything at all times. Culture Shock is very real here yet I indulge in it's intensity. I am building a new muscle in my hand, a muscle I never knew I had. These skinny metal chopsticks proove to work the fingers well, good for building hand jamming muscles. Faces down in ceramic bowls of Mag gug seu, slirps and horks accompany the sound of Korean chatter all around me. Suddenly a fellow co-worker on my right says "The most impressive thing about Canada to me is the naked woman dance". I almost choke on my over spiced noodles. As I look at him with his serious facial expression, it takes me a moment to realize he is talking about the strip club, or at least I think. To say the least, the conversation subsequently ended.
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