Lessons From An African-American Dog, In Asia

I just returned from the morning walk through Hupyeong with mine and my girlfriend, Suzi’s dog, Roland. Out of all the living beings I have encountered in my 24 years, Roland has without a doubt lived one of the most unique lives I know of. At times turbulent and on the move, at others content with a simmering air of simplicity, there is no doubt that the word adventure can be tagged to each and every day of his life, thus far.

Born in Naude, a rural Northeastern village in The Gambia, his initial life had very limited options, all concerning his immediate survival. As many of you can imagine, the life of a dog in rural West Africa is not an ideal, nor happy one. They are wild, hunt and kill for their meals, fight amongst each other for survival, and are occasionally beaten or stoned by the villagers. Few make it past infancy, and those that do, have a flea-infested, rabid and ultimately lonely existence to look forward to. These are not the dogs who affectionately beg for the last remains of the BBQ Ribs; cooked food on the dining room table is an unknown luxury far from the realm of their immediate reality. 

It was in this setting that 21 months ago, while working as an Ag-Fo volunteer in the Peace Corps, Suzi wandered through the village in search of a puppy. It had been rumored that a local dog was giving birth, and Suz was in the market for a companion to accompany her through her two years of service. A small litter of dogs produced four females and two males. Having grown up surrounded by a plethora of male dogs, (both of the animal quality and human – that is, before yours truly came along, of course) she knew she needed the kind of protection, energy and spirit that only a strong-willed male could produce. Thus her choices were limited to two.

The deciding factor between Roland and his brother was his stunning brindled coat. From a practical sense, his coat would make him more recognizable to Suz while they were walking through the bush, it would also help her to enforce to the children of the village which dog not to throw stones at. Ascetically though, Roland is an absolutely brilliant dog to look at. Splotched with white, brown and black, he has sharp lines of color that cut various angles through his torso. His eyes are wrapped in brown, while his snout is graced with a single, white line separating both of his eyes. From his feet to his hips he is fully white. And, his curled tail is brindled like his body, until it gives way to a dab of snowy white at the tip. As he has grown and matured over the last year and half, fully developing into a dog, his colors and features have amplified, giving him a wild, yet at the same time, regal appearance. 

 

 

In The Wild

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just Chilling At The Crib

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Da Monk

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you know anything about Suzi, it’s that animals are the most important thing in the world to her. I have never once even stood in competition with the animals in her life, and the constant presence of Roland, proves no different. If ever Roland is at my place and she walks in the door, I can be certain of five plus minutes of Suzi & Roland time before I even get a hello. To say Roland won the lottery by being bought by Suzi that day (for nothing more than a bag of tea, I might add) would be an extreme understatement. Through Suzi, Roland entered a world of endless walks, a near-constant existence in the outdoors, an array of treats, endless attention and a loving owner who cares for him as a mother would her son rather than a dog. Even in suburban America you’d be hard pressed to find many dogs who get this kind of royal treatment. 

When Suzi left The Gambia three months after adopting him, her biggest concern was assuring Rolands’ flight back to America. He had been with her through three of her most trying months and she knew in her heart that their companionship had immensely helped her through those times. As she would experience again over a year later trying to get Roland to Korea, the process of flying her and her dog from Africa to America was a trial in and of itself. From Montana, I strongly pleaded with her to get here as soon as possible, yet time and time again she displayed a patience unknown to me in securing Roland’s flight to the US. As luck would have it she flew on a half-full plane, and was able to bring Roland aboard who slept on her lap for the entirety of the 10+ hour flight. 

***

I first met Roland when I arrived in DC in February 2008 to meet Suzi when she got back to the US. At the time he was a shell of himself, worn out from the extended flight, jet-lagged, and unsure of where he was, or who he was with at the time. Her parents picked me up at the airport, and on the drive to her hotel Roland slept on my lap, drooling with each bump in the road. 

A month later Suzi, Roland, and my cat, Tatu arrived in Montana and the four of us lived together for the next four months before Suz and I pulled our routine, “interlude” in the relationship, and went our own ways. During that time I grew incredibly fond of Roland, a kinship I had never before felt with an animal. Roland, or has we began to call him, “Da Monkey Man,” – a result of his oversized ears and goofy frame – had a personality I had never before seen in a dog. Like a human being you could see and feel his ups and downs. Whenever we were gone for extended periods in time we were sure to be immediately greeted at the door by a butt-shaking, tail-wagging, ears-flopping Roland, who would jump up and down to kiss us then immediately start running through the apartment to get us to play. The same reaction followed any mention of a “Crazy Walk,” which usually means at least an hour devoted to Roland and his various explorations of the world outside. Like any good companion, Roland could also sense our ups and downs. If ever one of us appeared even the slightest bit melancholy, there would be Roland, hopping up on the bed, curling up at our side to comfort us. He became the best friend to both of us, never choosing sides in our arguments as it became apparent we needed to go down separate paths. Through the entirety of those four months, Roland could be called on by either one of us whenever we needed to be cheered up, or just wanted a monkey there to read our book with.

Roland also has his list of quirks that we discovered throughout the Spring, granting us constant amusement and joy. One in particular has to do with his sleeping habits. As what I believe is a direct result of the immense love Suzi showed him in his first weeks of life, Roland always has to be by her side. Always. This includes while we sleep. Before we turned out the light each night, Roland would hop on the bed and paw at the covers to which we would obediently lift them. He would then walk his way towards the foot of the bed, circle a few times, before curling up in between one of our legs. For the remainder of the night, he refused to budge. This forced one of us to sleep with our legs spread completely, preventing a decent nights sleep. We tried, to no avail, to get Roland to sleep on his bed on the floor, but he was going to have nothing of it. After some failed attempts, we started to just let it slide. Well, as many dog owners know, when a bad habit is not dealt with, the dog will continue to perform it as if it is allowed. After a while we simply got used to Roland being on the bed, and instead readjusted our sleeping styles. This I might add, was not that big of a deal when we shared a queen sized bed in Montana, but since Koreans only seem to sleep on twin sized beds, it creates quite a tight sleeping arrangement over here. Roland, however, seems to sleep wonderfully every night.

***

Last June, Roland developed a nasty case of diarrhea. We were unsure to what the origins were, but we were put on high alert each time Roland began sniffing and circling the floor of our apartment. Our schedules were completely altered by this, and we had to make sure he was getting out as often as possible.

One morning, just as the sun was creeping over the backside of Mt. Sentinal, Roland woke up with a snap and began circling on our bed. Not two seconds later he squatted down and took a dump right in between my legs. The normal reaction would have been a horrified scream, followed by leaping out of bed and taking two showers, then throwing the bed sheet and underwear out immediately, right? I did nothing of the sort. I remember almost being in immediate shock, not quite believing what had just happened. As I started to take stock of the situation I recalled his past moments of uncontrolled digestion…

Roland hates, absolutely hates car rides. On a number of extended drives through the rolling and weaving mountain passes of the west, he threw up violently on Suz. We tried everything, training him to sit in the back seat, not feeding him for the day before we departed, having him lie on a towel, but nothing ever worked. After a while we both got used to the fact that if we drove anywhere with Roland, he was bound to throw up. It became a joke, a test of what it will be like to raise children who throw up and whose diapers routinely need to be changed.

It was with this same mindset that I approached the mound of turds in my crotch that morning. After simply stating, “Oh my God” I laid my head back down on the bed to sleep of the remainder of the dawn. Suz started laughing at me and woke me back up to inform me that I desperately needed a shower. Reluctantly I negotiated my body around the droppings and slowly and steadily made my way for the bathroom. On the way, I distinctly remember reassuring Roland that I loved him, while laughing to myself, and saying to Suz, “Well, I guess we don’t have to take him out this morning.”

I’m not sure about the rest of you, but that was my first, and preferably last, experience with something else dropping waste on me. All I know, is that for some strange reason I loved Roland that much more after that morning. He had committed the most disgusting, insulting and inappropriate of acts, and yet instead of anger and horror, I only felt concern for him and what he must have been feeling; so sick, and in pain, with no time or capability to tell us what he needed. I knew then that if I could handle being shat on by my dog in the wee hours of the morning, I would be able to take anything from my children. 

***

When Suzi and I parted ways last July, we both dealt with a vast array of emotions concerning the separation neither of us really wanted, yet that we both knew we needed to stay true to our individual selves. For me, one of the hardest aspects of our separation was parting was with Roland, a dog that had become a close friend, whom I wanted to be there to see him continue to grow. I still remember trying to say goodbye to him on my way to Alaska. We stopped off at Whopper’s new home in Coure D’Alaine, ID  to let him play for the afternoon with their dog Supai, while Suz drove me the remainder of the way to Seattle. As I was trying to give him one last hug he continually ran away from me in their backyard with that rambunctious smile spread across his face. It was as if he was saying to me: “No Daddy, I want to play with you, but if you’re going to leave that’s up to you, but I don’t like it one bit.” Even now with him sleeping on the bed behind me, it tears at me to think about that afternoon. 

During the ensuing nine months of ups and downs between Suzi and I, I was always guaranteed an update now and then on how Roland was, funny new things he was doing, how he was adjusting to life with her parents four boxers, and a picture of the growing Monkey Man from time to time. When we finally etched out our differences and found each other once again, it was in Boston that we met to reunite, and celebrate our decisions to teach in Korea by way of the Phish tour opener at Fenway Park. While there we both mentioned to each other on multiple occasions that as wonderful as it was to be together again, we needed Da Monk there to make it feel right. 

***

A month later I boarded a plane set for Korea, where I spent my first month trying to adapt to the culture, trying organize the immensely disorganized school I worked for, and relay helpful hints back to Suz. Finally after weeks of ups and downs with the airline, the school we were employed through, and the governmental regulations for pets in the country, Suzi and Roland boarded a plane on 21 July to head to Chuncheon. Roland was able to accompany Suzi as her “Service Dog” (Don’t Ask) and once again he sat next to her on the 14-hr plane ride that brought the African-American Dog to Asia.

While Korea has definitely been an eye-opener for Suz and I in many different regards, it is Roland who has probably been hit the hardest, and felt the most significant changes by coming here. Roland never chose to come her, he is here solely because Suzi and I made the decision that we wanted him to be here. In coming here, Roland left behind a house full of playful dogs, a huge field to run wild in, and a cat, Tatu, to tantalize like the best of toys. Further, Korea is not exactly the most dog-friendly, nor dog-knowledgeable country in the world. (Though dogs aren’t the only thing they aren’t knowledgeable about over here…)

While Suz and I get stares by Koreans because this is the most homogenized country on Earth, which makes us stick out like the sorest of thumbs, Roland gets an even more animated reaction from everyone. Those who are afraid of him will do everything from scream and run away – which only excites him – to throwing themselves up against a wall, and sliding past us in effort to avoid him seeing them. Yet for everyone who reacts in these ridiculous manners, there are many more who seem to be not only curious, but down right ecstatic to see a dog of his size in their city. Unfortunately though, from the first second that they approach Roland, it is immediately apparent that they know nothing of how to handle a dog. Instead of extending their palm to let him sniff before petting him, Koreans – and many times groups of them – will hoard around him, petting him and laughing, without a care that they are probably frightening him, and that he could retaliate with a bite. To make matters worse, they are speaking in a language and tone that is unrecognizable to him, only further testing his patience. Many times, Suz and I are forced to pull him back, thank the person for petting Roland and walk on before they were finished.

While it definitely worries us that Roland must be exposed to these sharply different reactions and greetings than he has ever had to deal with before, he manages to reassure us that he is okay within seconds of leaving the Koreans behind. Looking down at him, we are graced with that smiling, tongue hanging from the side of the mouth, tail wagging and ears flopping Monkey Man who never ceases to amaze us with his capability to survive any change. It is as if he is telling us in the only way he knows how, that as long as the two of us are with him, he can take anything and he can go anywhere. For two people who want to see the world, and intend to bring him with, this is greatest reaction and attitude we could ask for.

***

There are many days when I feel the exact same way Roland feels when groups of Koreans are clamoring for his hide. The differences between the mannerisms and behaviors among westerners and Koreans could not be further from each other in many senses. Take my job for instance. As a teacher, who was educated in American Public Schools, a system of balance between education, activities and free time determined the thirteen years I spent in school. This lead to a fairly organized experience, where I usually had enough time to not only learn and retain information, but also complete homework, participate in after-school activities, and hang out with friends during my free time. The goal in mind was to learn that there is a time and place for everything, and that each aspect of life holds its own importance. As I went into great detail about in my last blog (Candy Management), there is no such system here, as many of my students spend upwards of 13-15 hrs a day in school, providing them with no time to play sports, relax, and just be a kid, let alone to retain the information taught to them. Only the very few break through the high ceiling that is set above them and actually make something of themselves, the rest merely fight to stay afloat. 

From a social standpoint, walking out of my apartment to school is a journey in and of itself. I can never merely just walk to school, for each an every day there is something new that catches my eye, makes me stop and step back, and wonder to myself: “What in the hell am I doing in Korea?!” This usually comes in the form of a ridiculous Korean T-shirt with a phrase in English that makes absolutely no sense. Suzi has begun highlighting the best T-shirts we’ve seen on her blog, “Kraaaaazy Korea,” which you can find the link to on the side bar, but I will give you a few as a preview. 

“Design Is Not What It’s Like. Design Is What It Does.”

“The Road Is Long. So What?”

“Help Save Our Delicious Earth”

“This Is A Really Hard”

As you can tell, the English education of Korean children is really going well.

Beyond the hilarious T-shirts, there is a frustration that creeps over me during many of my interactions, no matter how much I try to avoid them, with Koreans. See, – and I mean this in no generalized or stereotyped racist sense, this is just from my personal experience – Koreans are seemingly trapped in their own world, and thus appear to be incredibly oblivious to outsiders. This along with their lack of any sort of personal space, means that walking to work, or anywhere for that matter is akin to the video game Frogger. Out of nowhere, Koreans will appear in my path, obstructing me and never allowing me to simply take a pleasant stroll. 

The difference that irks me the most however, is the rampant and open abuse of alcohol, namely Soju which dominates the streets each night. As I leave my job and head home, I must keep my headphones on, for every restaurant and convenience store I pass by is filled with, and surrounded by, a massive group of drunk men, both old and young. This is not your average happy hour crowd just grabbing some cocktails and a beer after a long day of work. This is a full-scale, drunken Tuesday night for no other apparent reason than the fact that it’s Tuesday, and one can drink for cheap here, anywhere and at any time they choose. Now, I’m not one to deny a fun night of drunken debauchery; I had a great deal of fun throughout my college years, in my travels overseas, many-a-night in Chicago, and here at the all-night bars in Korea. But as someone who came to Korea with the sole intention of teaching, I do have my limits on partying. Thus to leave work on a nightly basis and be greeted by the onslaughts of Korean men groping each other, screaming to the heavens above (or just the neon red crosses) has become an annoyance that truly makes me wonder how this country survives each working day. 

Yet, I keep trying to remind myself that this is traveling. This is what it’s all about: exposing oneself to a totally new culture and way of life, and trying to survive in the best way possible. In the many instances that annoy and obstruct my day, I am constantly brought back to Roland’s experience. While I chose to toss myself in this experience, Roland had no free will in his decision. And yet, while this is a totally new country for him – and his third continent, mind you – where strange people approach him, run away from him, and speak to him in a language totally foreign to him, Roland always responds to each situation with that crazy smile, and carefree approach. As it has become very apparent, as long as Roland is with Suzi and I, exploring the city, sleeping between our legs, or playing with his monkey bones, all is right in the world. Roland’s experience and Roland’s attitude are the stuff of inspiration for me whenever I run into situations that are uncomfortable, annoying and unnerving. No matter how foreign of an environment I’m in, I still have two individuals I love with me, my books to immerse myself in, mountains to hike at will, and even a guitar to sing my sad ballads on. Like Roland, I have tried to step back from every new and strange experience with a smile. For while, it can be difficult at times to adjust to life in a country as strange as Korea, it certainly beats the alternative of working behind a desk for the next year. 

 

 

Candy Management

So, it’s been quite a while between my last post and now. Let me try to explain.

I am learning very quickly through my experiences that Korean’s are notoriously dis-organized businessmen. See, my contract start date was 1 July 2009, which fell three weeks before the week-long summer vacation for all Private English Schools in South Korea. This confounded me a bit before I left the US, but I let it slide off my back because, well, I didn’t have a job in the US, and wanted to get up and over to East Asia asap. However, what my employer forgot to inform me of before I left, was that the weeks leading up to the break were testing weeks, as most of the classes were finishing books they had been studying for the past six months. I was brought in to essentially teach them one chapter and test them.

Thus, while I was spending the first two weeks trying to not only get over jet lag, adapt to a foreign culture, but also organize the 17 courses I had just been handed, I was informed that I needed to prepare exams for these classes to be taken before my break. Nonetheless, the last couple of weeks have been pretty uneventful from a cultural exploration standpoint, yet have thrust me fully into my work. 

Beyond the  miscommunications that have plagued the employee-employer relationship, which from what I have been told is absolutely normal over here, the work has been fulfilling and rewarding. Like I said, I teach 17 different courses over about six hours each day, with a few classes repeating during the week. My classes could not be more different which forces one to mentally prepare oneself on an hourly basis. For, as you may imagine, Phonics-level eight-year-olds require quite a bit different approach than 14-year-old Advanced Reading and Writing courses. 

I begin each day with two hours of the little squirms who are at the basic level of their english education, usually between the ages of 6-8. They are rambunctious, loud, sweet, crazed, absolutely off the wall, and amazed by their teachers all at once. These classes read short, repeat, short story books that apply simple sentence structures and minimal vocab to childish stories about dreams of trains, animal friends, and the friendship between a little girl and a scary monster. The material is incredibly repetitive, the scholastic victories are small, but it keeps the kids entertained, and from time to time, a few of the students seem to grasp the concepts and walk out with some new knowledge. These classes tend to follow structure for only about 15-20 min before the kids lose all focus and force a reluctant Teacher Brian into a game. I don’t think I’ve played this much hangman and bingo since I was most of my students age!

At the end of the day, I have been advised not to struggle too much with actually “teaching” the students at this level. According to the school, they would rather the students leave with a smile on their face so their parents will continue to fund their tuition, than with a frown because their teacher tried to do his job. Now, I am still feeling my way around the system, and am all for making my students happy, but I did not come here to be a babysitter, and thus will be doing what I can to push harder for more structure in class than what I have experienced thus far. I truly hope that, in time, this is a battle I can overcome. 

On Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays I teach two Intermediate Reading, Analytical Thinking and Writing courses. These are by far my favorite classes both for the material covered, but also for the students within the classes. The students are the equivalent of middle school-ages, know enough english to converse and write fairly well, and are as funny and entertaining as they come. We read from a text book which alternates a non-fiction story with a fiction one, week to week, and two short story books that introduce a small amount of english literature through abridged stories.

The problems facing these classes are reflected in the issues with the structuring of my younger classes. Like all private institutions, english schools are a business which, unfortunately, seem to rely more on tuition levels and profits than on the production and education of its students. Many students are seemingly allowed to rise through the various levels and grades in the school without adequate knowledge of the subjects. As a result, teachers are discouraged, by their workload and the students time, to be persistent in pushing each young student to work to their full potential. Further, upon receiving a class of 12-year-olds who can “speak” english, yet cannot understand what it is they are speaking, I, as a teacher am overwhelmed by the course work we have in front of us, and the amount of backtracking I honestly should be doing to properly teach these students.

Its a delicate balancing act as a teacher, for you don’t want to hold the class back, but it is incredibly obvious that a few of my older students should never have passed their ESL 1 course. Even more, the majority of my time spent with these students is in assessment classes, which regularly tests  their understanding of the material they have read. Thus I have very little “teaching time” with them. I have tried to inject a few basic lessons about sentence structure and the daunting “topic sentence,” to no such avail, a clear result of ineffective time management, and over-working.

***

These middle school-level classes put on high display the ignorance and inefficiency of the overall Korean Education System. From my perspective, it appears to seek to overwork their youth, and overwhelm them with more information, strictly information, than any mind at that age should have to handle. The intended goal is the best high school education possible, so one will be accepted into one of the five-to-ten Korean “Ivy League” Universities. High School, as a result is the most intensive educational period in a Korean youths life.

A typical day for a high schooler in Korea is to wake up and go to their school from 7:30-2, then spend anywhere between 3-5 hours at their English school, before returning home to complete all the homework assigned in two languages, for the next 12 hour day.

The kids can forget about physical activities, for there is no time to play baseball – a sport reserved for those handpicked children to play – soccer, basketball, or even to run around and burn off steam. As a result, many of these students physically develop in the strangest ways – not overweight, but not of any sort of ideal, with no knowledge of the importance of physical health – because their lives are spent in classrooms for 50 weeks of the year.

It’s an unfortunate sight to see, whereas far too many in the world are grossly undereducated and thus face a life full of barriers, here the students are almost overeducated. This discrepancy allows for no balance to be attained, prevents social networking, and forces many to choose their career path at far too young an age. The odds for success are still stacked against these students of memorization, not knowledge, for acceptance in college is all that matters, and the failure to attend the “right” school, will most certainly lead to a life just slightly above the poverty line.

***

Tuesday, Wednesday & Friday evenings are dedicated to my recently graduated ESL 1 course, which begins ESL 2 next week. These kids are around the 10-11 year-old range, have minimal english skills, yet have great senses of humor, and for the most part, work hard for me. Though I do have a few trouble makers, one of whom I have protested against advancing course levels – to which my boss said, “No, he should be okay” –  the shining stars of the class, are, not surprisingly, the girls. They are excited by the material, work harder, and are always willing to participate, to the point where I have to discourage them in effort to get some answers out of the boys. The next six months will be dedicated to ESL 2, and I hope to see quite an improvement from these students. We have been working extensively on simple sentence structures, and I hope that by the time I leave them, they will be better prepared to write organized and readable essays than many of the students ahead of them. 

I also teach two levels of the Simple Steps of Writing courses on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday late afternoons. The younger students in the Level Two course are eight & nine, and the more advanced class (Level Five) is comprised of 12 & 13 year-olds. These classes read stories of birthdays, thieves, sporting events and hobbies, coupled with activities that teach them grammar and word choice. They then end each unit with a writing activity.

Like the previous classes I wrote about, the students here are an assortment of hard working intelligent young minds, and those who require quite a bit more attention and guidance. I had these classes do an extensive amount of writing in the first month to see where they were at, and will be honest in saying we have a lot of work to do, particularly in the higher level course. There is no excuse in my mind to explain why  students who have been taking english classes since they were six years old, have no clue how to write a Subject-Verb-Object sentence, or properly organize a five-paragraph essay. As this class has clearly shown, the positive about me arriving at the time that I did, was the opportunity to test these students and assess their abilities, so that I can now step back and formulate lesson plans which reflect what they really need to know. 

I end my Monday and Thursday nights with two different high school level classes which read abridged versions of advanced english literature, such as Huckleberry Finn and The Picture of Dorian Gray. I am adamantly pushing to teach some of my personal favorite, Ernest Hemingway, in these classes, and hopefully by the fall we’ll be deep into The Gambler, The Nun & The Radio, exploring Papa’s distinctly peaceful view of death. 

These two classes could not be much different. My class on Monday is a tutorial course for an eighteen-year-old, bright, young engineer, who already has excellent english skills and is simply trying to improve his reading, writing and conversational skills. To say he is easy to teach would be an understatement. It is nothing short of a pleasure to teach him, for he is well versed in American culture and history, and constantly asks me for more information on America. I look forward to this class as the weekend comes to an end, knowing full well, that the two hours will fly by, and we will both walk away with quite a bit of knowledge gained. 

My upper-level reading course on Thursday nights, however, is a completely different story. The two boys in this class have put up a front that is all too familiar for parents of 14-year-old, awkward and moody boys. To ask them to read a passage in our books is similar to asking ones parents for the car for a weekend getaway….impossible. God forbid I try to stimulate a conversation among, “higher level” english speakers. This class inches forward like the last remains of winter in the chilling, and indecisive days of March. I am trying to come back from break with a new perspective on these students, try to lighten the class and make it more enjoyable for all parties. But when it all comes down to it, I was hired to teach, and I cannot, in goodwill, stray too far from the material needed to be taught. This class will be an ongoing work in progress, a twist of irony, for I hoped, upon applying for this job, to be teaching primarily to this age. Ce’st La Vie…

As you may have wondered, the title of this post reflects the fall back option to any problems in my younger classes. It is absolutely astounding to see the power that candy holds over children. If at any time I need to stimulate participation and focus, I begin granting students who answer questions correctly a small piece of candy. Not only does this result in a widespread array of hands thrust into the air, but it also makes the lesson seem that much more exciting for a period in time. The discovery of its effectiveness proved to be a great victory for me, one that I will resort to at any point that I see the kids need a boost of sugar. 

All in all, the classes have been going well. The students are fun, keep me entertained, and are excited to yell at you the newest english word or phrase they have learned. I love the enthusiasm and the drive for knowledge. Yet as I have described, the combination of disorganized schools, and an overwhelming school system leads to far too many problems that are all too clearly reflected in the majority of the students performance in school. I am learning quickly that many of these problems are far above me and my standing, and that it is not my job to become intertwined in things I cannot fix. Hopefully within time, I can develop a relationship with my employers that will allow me to dish out my two cents in efforts to improve the effectiveness of the school. Until then, I will continue to wander through this experience, wide-eyed, and excited for the next day to begin……

Celebrating America With Seoul

With a week of Korean life in the books, consisting of non-stop new foods, hundreds of conversational dead-ends and the feeling that all were peering underneath my skin as I strolled down the street, I figured I was due for some American  ”normalcy.” It thus worked out in my favor that my buddy Adam, who is teaching in Seoul, invited me down for a 4th of July Celebration that featured Baseball, fireworks and some pizza to top it off. I hopped on the train from Chuncheon, Saturday morning and made the two-hour, winding trip down to the capital. 

Like the drives between Missoula, Montana and Butte, America, the train ride to Seoul cut a track through the mountains of northern-South Korea, over rivers, and in and out of the small farming towns that connect the cities throughout the country. This is a beautiful ride with mountains in morning mist rising above corn fields, small towns popping up out of each tunnel we emerged from, and fly fishermen lining every creek and river we crossed over. For a boy who found his place in the mountains of the West, there is a distinct feeling of “coming home” as I gaze up at a strikingly similar landscape that surrounds me. Being in a country that has 80% of its land covered in mountains and hills, I know I will be able to do my fair share of exploring during my time here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As we left the mountains and their reposeful calm, the ex-urbs of Seoul began to rise before me in the demanding sense that all world cities impose upon new visitors. Having spent time in Berlin and Istanbul two years ago, I had  an idea of what the physical size of Seoul would be. It is seemingly everywhere when you are within it. But the feel of Seoul is distinctly Asian in its pace and rhythm, in the same way that Berlin is an organized and orderly German institution, and Istanbul is a colorful and chaotic nightmare, leaving one with a dull headache that only retreats months after they’ve left. 

I exited the train, and immediately found myself in a swarm of people heading in every direction, while I tried to stop, compose myself and get my bearings in order. I got a hold of Adam, (thank god for cell phones) and we somehow met up in front of a Pizza Hut, oddly enough. We took the precise and efficient subway towards the Olympic park where the baseball stadium was, got some fresh sushi, bought our tickets, and made our way to a patio outside the stadium to meet up with our friend Nicole, and began our tailgating. 

The Korean baseball experience is unlike anything I have ever been a part of before, and I’m sorry to say, blows away everything about attending a baseball game in the states. (Save the quaint American ballparks and higher level of play) For starters, tickets are no more than $15, with our bleacher seats costing a cool 6,000 WON, or $4. Secondly, not only are you allowed to, but you are encouraged to bring any and all outside food and drink into the park. There is a convenience store located right outside the entrance, and the line for beer in there rivals those waiting to enter the park before the first pitch. This leads to quite the festive atmosphere within the park, for many families set up picnics in the bleacher section, and most are more than willing to pass over a beer or two when ones supply has run dry. There is also no assigned seating, per se. When you buy a ticket, you buy for a section, (bleachers, upper deck, or terrace level) and pick your seats as you see them. Further, there appeared to be no security guards in the entire park, and so movement between sections is a free flowing process. Finally, the camaraderie, the energy, the passion of these fans is something I have never felt before as a sports fan. The various and unique chants that are awarded to each batter, never cease to flow from the stands. Even when their team is stuck in an 11-2 hole in the bottom of the eight, these fans keep the drive alive, hoping to will their team to a rally. If only Cubs fans could keep that flicker of hope when all looked lost, maybe we’d come back in a few big games…Oh, who am I kidding.

We saw the Korean equivalent of a Cubs-Sox game, as the Doosan Bears (The Korean team I have put my heart behind) were basically slaughtered by the LG Twins. (I sure do pick the right teams to root for) The two teams play in the same stadium which creates an interesting experiment of fan pride as the stadium is split in two with the red of the Twins covering first base and right field, and the white of the Bears blanketing the third base line into left field. The most interesting aspect to the cheering is that when one team bats their fans chant and scream and cheer with a passion unrivaled, while the other team’s fan base sits in silence, waiting out the defensive side of their inning. As the teams switch, one fan base is turned on, while the other is turned off. And it continues throughout the game in this manner until the last out. 

 

 

 

 

After the game we made our way over to the 1988 Olympic stadium, which is completely open to the public, lit of some fireworks and sang The National Anthem in celebration of the country we originated from. It was the perfect gesture towards the good ole’ US of A, and gave me a sense of home, so far from my family and friends. We then jumped into a cab and headed towards Itaewon, the foreign district of Seoul to party the 4th away with some other American’s.

 

 

 

Seoul is without a doubt the cleanest world city I have ever been to, a feat so great, that I cannot fathom the unseen work it takes to give it the image of a housewives’ daydream. When does all this cleaning, all these meticulous trash hunts, happen? More importantly, who does this cleaning? For, Seoul never sleeps. New York can have the phrase, but Seoul lives up to it in every sense. With bars open until the break of dawn, a non-stop supply of US soldiers and ex-pats to entertain, plus a business culture that relies on soju and Hite (Korea’s Light Beer, that is actually worse than Miller Light…I know, I didn’t think that was possible) for success, Seoul fights on through the night until a short break at dawn, only to do it all over again tomorrow.

In every direction one gazes there are people, groups upon groups, pouring in and out of restaurants and bars, into the streets crowded with taxis seeking inebriated customers. Where would they go with the customers when they got in, though? The streets are a mess of cars and humans, there is no where to drive. A single city block could take at least an hour at least to navigate down. To hop into a cab in the foreign district of Itaewon would be a trip to nowhere. Yet somehow, someway it works. There is no unnecessary honking from one cabbie to another, and while there are masses of people streaming in and out of the street, someone always seems to hold up enough foot traffic to allow a few cabs to escape. 

Quite possibly the greatest thing about Seoul is its endless diversity. Where as in Chuncheon I am the sore thumb that sticks out far and wide, in Seoul I was just one more foreigner taking advantage of the pleasures of Korea. If one stops and takes in the people in their immediate area, they are almost guaranteed to see at least one person from each continent on this planet. Yet the varieties of Seoul are most present in its assortments of late night food-offerings. In a three hour span of time I ate a Turkish Kebab, a burrito, and a slice of pizza, thereby forgetting the “new” culture I had placed myself in. This feeling gave me a sense of pride, knowing that I would not be in Seoul for the majority of my stay in Korea. In many ways, being in Seoul, it is far too easy to forget the fact that you in fact in Korea, and not just another international city, filled with foreigners partying. As fun as the non-stop atmosphere of Seoul was, it was here that I realized my place in Chuncheon, which suddenly felt more like home than ever before.

The nightlife in Seoul is exhausting at best, and by 3am one bar differs little from another, for they all blast non-stop power-driven bass and a catchy riff over the top that induces the night-owls in, and sends an old man like me back to bed. These bars bring back dark memories of my last job and are a constant reminder that the world cannot escape the lure of the greased-up, late night dance-off. 

When one finally makes it home from the night, sleeps off the fun and emerges into the world again, they are blown away by the fact that Seoul is still plugging away as if the night before had never happened. Even on a Sunday, all business are open, and the streets are once again filled with cabs transporting people from one side of the city to another. To think that this transition happens on a regular basis, with seemingly no down time in between, is nothing short of amazing, and tiring. The stamina and rhythm this city puts on full display really calls into question the tenacity of the world’s other “party cities.” If nothing else, it sure entices me for what the Lunar New Years celebration is sure to hold. 

I bid farewell to my friends from home, and new friends I had made in my weekend get-away, and caught an evening train back to Chuncheon. In quiet reflection, I rode through the same small towns, over the same rivers and beside the same mountains that led me to Seoul. This time, though, I knew I was heading back to the place I belong. As the sun set and I caught up on some much needed sleep, I felt an ease for the first time since being here. A feeling telling me that I really have made the right decision to leave all that I knew and loved behind me in pursuit of something which I have yet to discover.

Before I go, I need to give a congrats to my Grandparents, Nana & Papa. This Thursday is their 60th Anniversary, a feat matched by few anymore. Without them, I would not be here, and without there endless supply of love, support and advice, I would not be on the road I am on. Thank you two, for everything, and congratulations on 60 years of love and unity.

Till next time…

 

Teacher Brian & Disorganized-Organization

Simplify, keep moving, simplify, teach, simplify again, sleep. That pretty much sums up my days in Korea thus far. For all who warned me of the trouble of traveling to a country with a completely unrecognizable language – of which I know nothing (save the lettering for chicken, a must) – you win this round. I have stepped back to the infancy of activities. It is absolutely amazing how much language impacts each and every act within our day. From the miniscule  moment of being signaled to cross the street in front of an idle, waiting car, to the much more important decision of what to order at a restaurant where nothing, including the price, is written in english. It is all a task requiring ones full energy and attention. This is not recognized however, until we step into a completely new set of characters that make up a completely new set of words which must be further translated to be understood. I may as well be in a diaper. I have been reduced to pointing, grunts and motions to hopefully reach an understanding when I seek a simple order of Kimbap, – The Korean equivalent of the hot dog, eaten as a quick lunch, at picnics and baseball games. Kimbap is essentially a sushi roll with cucumbers, carrots and danmuji (pickled radish) -  

a cab ride home, and directions anywhere. Lord knows what’s going to happen when I finally seek out the GS Mart for groceries and furniture. 

To say that the last week has been an eye opener would be a gross understatement. I have once again placed myself in the most humbling of circumstances, this time as the most obvious of outsiders, in the full pursuit of knowledge of the other, of the unknown. Yet, as I found constantly while in Europe studying Muslim societies in Belgium, the other, the unknown, is usually much closer to us than we wanted to believe, or could have ever imagined.

The first aspect of this society I have consciously absorbed is the rhythm. Like waves churning on a rocky shore, this place is in constant motion. From all directions there is movement, quick, frantic, yet with some semblance of control. To cross a street is a snappy weave amongst the various pedestrians competing to beat out the rapid walk signal against the ever looming threat of cabs seeking customers, and non-customers alike, and delivery men on mo-ped’s racing through traffic to their next stop. At all hours of the day, someone, and usually multiple people are wandering the streets. Where they go, where they come from, I have no idea. All I can ascertain is that behind the focus in their eyes, within the pursuit in their steps, there is some place of importance they are in search of.

And yet, although this motion is non-stop, and clearly driven, the biggest dichotomy is the pace, of which I have fully embraced. The motion which never stops is almost without tension. For, while as in the west I always sensed an urgency, a need to get from one place to another, within a fixed, scheduled time, here, I see people who clearly must get somewhere, for something, but the pace, the time at which it takes to get there, means very little. To an outsider this is both relieving and incredibly frustrating at the same time. It is relieving in one sense for those who sought a slower, less frenetic pace. Yet, when one is carrying an oversized bag next to their boss who is wheeling their other bag, and he stops every half a block to “chat” with seemingly random people, one must question whether a motive or goal would help to speed up the pace. Alas, the destination is always reached, and the trials are never worth the trouble of complaining. Like any new place, there are unseen oddities around every corner, new norms that we must adjust ourselves too, for we are in another land, where another way has worked, where another way is right. This recognition must be made multiple times each day, and acted out with each step we take.

I officially began my job on Wednesday, which is Tuesday night for everyone in the states. I have about twenty different classes, all with between 5-12 students, ranging from ages 7-14. The majority of my classes are younger, beginning english speakers who read lots of stories, spend loads of time sounding out words, and then lose all patience until I begin an English word game. The favorite is Hangman and a variation on Bingo, though Simon Says is a sure winner as it gets them up burning their seemingly endless supply of metabolism. To these children I am simply known as “Teacher Brian,” which they yell from down the hallway, at me in the classroom and whenever I see them at the market between classes. I cannot even begin to describe how much I am honored to be addressed in this sense, particularly since any time anyone yelled at me at my last job as a waiter was usually in a degrading manner that began with the address of “excuse me server,” and rarely ended with my name.

The next level, 9-11 year olds, are reading at a higher level and are beginning to write short papers. I really enjoy these classes because the material is a bit more interesting, allows me to teach them about the five-paragraph, personal and persuasive essays, and gets them thinking in english at a higher level. While the age seems to force them to retreat from any actual effort at the risk of classmates making fun of them, its amazing what they can produce when they do try.

The highest level I have taught thus far are my 12-13 year olds, who are at a conversational level, exude intelligence and curiosity and know things about Chicago like: The Sears Tower is there, Obama is from there, and it’s next to Lake Michigan. There are only four students in this class, so it is a nice break from the energy and chaos that sometimes ensues in my younger classes. Question and answers from the texts can lead to actual discussions in english on the topics we are studying. I know already that I will greatly look forward to these classes twice a week.

Finally, I have two classes of middle-school students who I will not teach until next week. Reason being, this week they were taking exams dealt to them four times a year in preparation for high school. From what I have heard these are similar to standardized tests we all know in the states, but while those simply gauged the credibility of a school district, these determine whether or not they move up a grade. From everything I have read and heard, the students study and study and study and are overworked, basically year-round through high school. Everything is in preparation for their high school exams which determines what college they get into. Once they receive that letter of acceptance, if it is at one of the five top, “Ivy League” schools, they are apparently set for the next four years. College, from what I have been told, is somewhat of a joke here. The University one attends means a great deal, but the work at that school seemingly means very little. This is a highly educated society, where everyone down to common street-sweepers have college degrees, yet it seems that the name of the school attached to the degree means more than the work accumulated. This is one of the many discrepancies I’ve noticed thus far in terms how rapidly Korea has evolved from a military dictatorship to the 10th largest economy in the world. More on this in a later post.

I also moved into my apartment Wednesday night. It is a small studio about ten minutes up the main street from my school. I have pictures posted below. While I was told in the job listing and in various discussions with the school that it would come “fully furnished,” apparently in Korea that just means bed. I do have a television which I turned on once and found 45 Korean channels and one that seems to show CSI non-stop, I guess it’s a craze here. I am fortunate because the girl who I replaced left me some cooking utensils, a night stand, a drying rack and taught me how to use the laundry machine which is all in Korean. I am requesting a desk, for right now I am doing all of my work on the floor, and I will likely purchase a small couch, coffee table and a rug so as to cut down on the echo that reverberates with each step I take. 

For those who know nothing about Korean bathroom, they are somewhat different from those in the US  in the fact that there is no shower, per se. The detachable shower is in the middle of the bathroom with a drain in the floor. Everything in the room gets wet, and everything dries in the same way as the tub would. While this is a bit strange at first, one realizes quick how much can now be done with the increased mobility. Along with getting myself clean, I was able to shave in front of a mirror, brush my teeth and floss all while “showering.” Amazing. Time in the bathroom is suddenly cut in half. I have yet to take pictures of this wonder of the far eastern world, but I will post them in the next blog writing. 

 

Bedroom From The Kitchen

Door to the kitchen and bathroom from my bed

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am leaving tomorrow morning (Saturday) to take the train to Seoul for the celebration of the Fourth. Two of my friends from high school, Adam Moret and Nicole Belica happen to be english teachers here as well, and we are going to attend a Korean Baseball game. What better way to celebrate America on the other side of the world!!!! I plan on taking tons of pictures there and will probably have lots to write about, so look forward to another post early next week.

I hope all is going well in the states. I was lucky to just catch the ending of the Cubs pounding of the Brewers, and  saw the Bulls finally let Ben “won’t pass” Gordon leave. Keep the comments coming for they mean quite a bit. I’m off to the school for preparations for the day. Take care all.

여보세요! 남한에서 인사!

For those of you who don’t speak Korean, that says: Hello! Greetings From South Korea! I guess its pretty much official now, I am here, I am doing this. And most importantly, I am loving this.

After publishing my first post on Friday morning at 5:45am, I decided that since I wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep, I might as well make my way out to see Chuncheon. I wandered about three miles towards the center of town, past alley-way fish markets, 15 Hyundai dealerships and hundreds, literally hundreds of what I thought at first to be barber shops… it turns out that they are actually escort services. These litter the streets, and I would later learn through the help of one of my Korean co-workers, that I am in fact, staying in a hotel that works in con-junction (word choice?) with these, ahem, libido businesses. That sure explains the red glow that emanates through the hallway in the middle of the night. 

I passed by a Domino’s, Pizza Hut and Dunkin Donuts, thereby being the only American entities in my presence…gotta love that for all the intangibles our country tries to export, namely Freedom and Democracy, it is our fast-food chains that leave our most physical mark. Not even our pop music stands a chance in this land where even the elderly men seem to know every line to the Jonas Brothers/Britney Spears-esque excuse for music that blasts from every restaurant, convenience store and laundra-mat on the main street. 

Speaking of pop music, what an odd way to start my trip by pulling up BBC News only to find out Michael Jackson died! Personally, I can’t really be saddened or sorry about this, not that I wish any ill will on Jacko what-so-ever. More than anything, I am relieved for a man who’s life was in the public eye since age 5 and who the last fifteen years have been anything but kind to. Here’s to hoping he’s at peace, riding some ferris wheel somewhere in the afterlife.  Right or wrong, he did make Thriller people. 

I returned to my hotel after my walk and prepared for my first day of training at the school. The school is located on the 7th floor of a building in the Hoopyeong District of Chuncheon, right down the street from my apartment. The school is made up of six small classrooms, a teacher’s discussion room and a presentation room. I will be teaching children from age 6-15, focusing mainly on basic grammar structures, vocabulary, reading and writing. I sat in the classes I will be taking over for next week and met many of the kids. They are full of energy similar to American students, and they all shouted “Michael Jordan” when I informed them that I was from Chicago. I can tell already that just maintaining their attention, particularly for the younger students, will require a lot of my energy, and should challenge me on a daily basis. I cannot wait to start. 

I met the two other American EFL teachers, Josh and Ashley, both of whom will be departing in the next few weeks. Both are from the States, and have had positive experiences in their year-long stay in Korea, which is very encouraging. We went out on Friday night for my first Korean BBQ and Soju experience. Upon entrance it is required that one removes their shoes, and everyone sits on the ground around a table with a grill in the center. After being served a generous portion of raw pork, beef and lamb ($7 all you can eat!!!) we begin to grill and wait to feast. It is a communal meal, everyone shares, and you are continually instructed by the owners to eat until you can eat no more. 

While waiting for the meat to cook we began to drink the dangerous Korean liquor called, Soju. Think Vodka without the strong bite, and with a hint of lime….it really goes down like water. Even more, it costs only $1 a bottle. Without delving to deep, seeing that it was my first full day in Korea, and a few teachers last weekend in country, the Soju kept coming and coming. 

After dinner we made are way to the university district to a bar frequented by EFL Teachers, simply called “Sheriff Bar.” The name is quite fitting, for when you enter you are greeted by a full-sized covered wagon with tables and chairs to give you the full “Western” experience…I guess. It is the Korean equivalent of a dive bar. Dart boards line the walls, the air is cast in second hand smoke and most importantly, the drinks are cheap. I celebrated late into the night with my new co-workers, (Korean bars are open until 5am!!!) and made my way back to my hotel to sleep off the night and the continuing effects of jet-lag.

I was awoken abruptly, early the next morning to a sharp knock from Mr. Choo, the man who picked me up from the airport. He informed me that we needed to go to the hospital so I may get my Korean physical. In futility, I tried to explain that I had already had one in America, to no avail. The next two hours were spent walking from one floor of the hospital to another, in and out of offices and back and forth from the waiting room while Mr. Choo discussed at length the desired appointment for me, all the while pointing at me, yet speaking in Korean, never stopping to explain what was going on. My head was spinning, I was exhausted, but could do nothing but go along. In the end, I had blood drawn, a simple process that took no more than thirty seconds, and I was out of the hospital before the blood dried on my arm. 

I slept for the remainder of Saturday, which was much needed at that point, seeing as it was still technically the middle of the night to my body. I awoke around 9pm to another knock at my door, this time much more pleasantly, as I was invited out to dinner with some co-workers. Wisely avoiding the Soju, I enjoyed a tapas-style (the style is called Anju in Korea) Korean restaurant where we enjoyed a sweet & spicy shrimp and noodle dish, and an order of cheese fries that would make even the heartiest Wisconsinite quiver in their knees. I’ve never in my life seen this much cheese piled on to fries, and I lived with Chris Timmons for two years. 

I made the acquaintance of a few english-speaking Koreans over dinner and they offered to show me around the city today, (Sunday) and also told me with much excitement that they would give me Korean lessons, an offer I will surely accept. I made it an early night, in order to best be ready for a day of exploration today. 

I got up early once again today and set out for a jog through town. One of my favorite ways to see new cities, countries, and places in general is to run through them in the morning before anyone is out. One of my greatest memories from my trip through Europe two years ago was a morning I woke early and ran from my hotel to The Louvre before any shops had opened, before any of the tourists were clogging the Palaces’ courtyard, before the sun had even risen. Running at a quick clip to the composed tension of “The Divided Sky,” I had the great fortune of arriving in the main courtyard as the sun began peaking its beaming brow over  the ancient walls, basking me in a warm, shining glow. It is forever my image of Paris, the Paris you must try to see, before all the lines, before the cars clog the streets, before the wine is poured and the bread is baked. It was with this in mind that I set out this morning to see the university I had heard so much about. 

What I was about to find out, is how incredibly inclined Chuncheon is. Numerous times I stared up at five or six blocks rising above me, yet with each conquered hill I absorbed wider views of the city that I will call home for the next year. Mountains wrap this valley in all directions, and beyond the immediate boarders of the city, there are more mountains, and in the mist, where one has to squint to see, even more appear. Lush green forests cover these rocks that rise from the Earth, upwards towards the heavens, like a blanket to keep cool on summer evenings. It is spectacularly beautiful. I am constantly reminded whenever I find myself in a place of great incline, that this is where I belong. Chicago has got a piece of my heart, but the mountains have my soul.

The University campus did not disappoint, as I bore witness to some of the most inspired architecture I had seen yet, (Asia is not known for its architecture by any means) ran through the picturesque quad, down into a pine forest that emptied to a small lily pond, and back up to the main hall. I rapidly returned to my hotel, as the majority of the trip was downhill. 

The afternoon brought my first Dakalbee experience. Dakalbee is Chuncheon’s famous dish that has spread through east Asia like the burger in America. It is a true ode to the simple feast: Chicken, Cabbage, Onion and Garlic cook on a grill in the middle of your table in a spicy chili sauce. Once ready you simply pile however much food you want into a piece of lettuce, fold it like a tortilla and feast. It is an array of spicy, crunchy, simple goodness. I cannot stress the simplicity of it enough. Once everyone has had their fair share, the sever brings over a plentiful of rice and pours it on the grill to simmer with the remaining Chicken and spices….and then you feast all over again! Why this isn’t a rave in every college town in America is as confusing to me as why the Donner Kebabs haven’t made the trek from Europe. Someone needs to get on this…..where is Andrew Zimmerman and Anthony Bourdain to promote good food when you need them??? I made a promise to myself when I was in Europe that if I ever made it rich I would buy a Donner Kebab business in Holland, ship it to the US and start the franchise in a college town, I may have to make the same far-fetched promise to this new wonder of the culinary world.

The rest of the day was spent continuing to catch up on the jet-lag, I really hope I have this down my next week, and writing to all of you….you are out there, aren’t you?

I continue my training tomorrow and Tuesday, receive a cell phone, and expect to move out of the 1-900, “Love you long-time” Hotel and into my own apartment on Wednesday. I hope all is well back home in the states. I see Milton Bradley has finally proven to everyone he has the self-control of a love-sick 16-year-old girl, the Cubs bullpen can’t hold a lead, and sadly Mark DeRosa is now a hated Cardinal….if anyone ever questioned whether or not the Baseball Gods really hated the Cubs, I think 2009 has proven that they certainly do. 

Until next time…..

“Embracing the situation is our only chance to be free”

-Jeff Tweedy

What Time Is It Exactly???

And so here I find myself, at 5:45 in the morning of my first full day in Chuncheon, South Korea, awake, yet still in the zombie-esque trance that hit me as we crossed the International Date-Line, 8 hours into my flight yesterday. I made the best of twelve-hours in a tube, elbow-t0-elbow with a heavily drunk Frenchmen, by tearing through three magazines, in order to fully catch up with the latest installment of the Iranian Revolution, sitting through three of the worst movies I’ve seen in recent memory, (“Valkyrie,” Tom Cruise you’re just waaaay to overbearing, “The International,” Clive Owen you’re just not believable, and “He’s Just Not That Into You,” but who could fault me at that point, I just needed pictures to look at and this was a better choice than Steve Martin’s cinematic suicide he calls “The Pink Panther”) listening to some of my current favorite albums, (The Band – Music From Big Pink, Andrew Bird – Armchair Apocrypha, Phish – Fukuoko, Japan – 6.14.2000, Broken Social Scene – Feel Good Lost and the newest release from Grizzly Bear – Veckatimest) I was really going for the mellow approach with music in hopes of inspiring the sleep which never came. I think my eyes stayed shut for a grand total of 20 minutes while on board.

Upon arrival in Korea, I became a public display in the Medical Quarantine area because, well first of all, I was the most obvious foreigner, and secondly, I, probably mistakenly at this point, marked down on the Health Department sheet that I had experienced a “stuffy / runny nose in the last 24 hours.” I had sneezed three times on the flight in and was being reminded on the sheet that I could face up to 5 years imprisonment if I lied about any information on my Medical Quarantine sheet. Further, as I looked around at my co-travelers, 90% covered their mouths and noses in facemaks, leading me to believe that even the common cold is not simply looked upon as a cheap sick day in this country. None-the-less, I was pulled aside by two youthful doctors/nurses/Professional Cavity Searchers, and basically given a full physical in front of the entire known population of Korea at that point.

I then proceeded to be sent to a Weopanry Claimings Zone because I had packed a small pocket knife for the camping trips I fully expect to take over the next year. After being asked upwards of 20 times what my purpose was in Korea, (for some reason I don’t think they liked the correlation of education and knife-wielder very much) I was on my way with smiles from the youthful Korean Guards, who informed me of where I could purchase a much bigger knife, in case I still wanted on.

I then met Mr. Choo, the associate from my school, who greeted me with a sign bearing my name: Brian R. Brinkman….A short digression:

In the fall of 2006 I decided to begin including the letter “R”, my middle initial, in my signature and in the presentation of my name in any official sense. (Essays, Blue Book Exams, Checks, Online Order Forms) I belived at the time, that this would help to give me an ere of professionalism, so that no matter the quality of my essays and exams in college, my professors would see the letter “R” slicing through the middle of my blocky, yet simple German name, and suddenly view me as an intellectual. (Shallow you say? Quite, but we all gotta make our way ahead in this world) On the plus side, my GPA rose from the depths of hell to a respectable mid-3 range, I was accepted into a study abroad program, and was hired as a TA.

However, in a cruel twist, it seemed to me that everyone refused to address me with the letter “R” between my name. It was as if it just didn’t exist. Professors glazed over it as though I were still just a simple-minded mid-westerner, my advisor at my study abroad program, didn’t seem to notice or care that I even had a middle initial, when my name was called at college graduation, no matter how hard I tried to emphasize the “R”, I was still announced as just, Brian Brinkman, even the woman at the DMV, when I went in last fall to replace my plates, called me up to the counter as Brian Brinkman when I had clearly put my middle initial on every line where my name was required. It was as if the whole world was against my desire to appear grown-up and professional.

That is, until I reached South Korea.

In my state of flux, thanks to a flight to tomorrow, and little to no sleep, I stepped out into the arrivals area of the Incheon International Airport, weighed down and stumbling about my over-sized luggage, and was greeted with a sign bearing the name: Brian R. Brinkman. I stopped and smiled to myself, and proceeded forward to greet my new co-worker. Mr. Choo, an associate at the school, is a quiet, unassuming man who fulfills all of my stereotypes about hard-working, no-nonsense folks I had of the Asians before I arrived. Where I was excited to be in South Korea, pointing out the mountains that rose in the mist out towards the Chinese sea, the colors of Seoul and the beauty of my first sunset in the Far East, Mr. Choo was much less out-going. Providing me with quick answers, he informed me that I would be starting my job training today, and will probably begin work on Monday. In his words, “It is only necessary for you to train for one hour.” Boy,do I love foriegn countries.

The drive through Seoul was slow and mired by a traffic jam that rivals only Istanbul and rush-hour on 290, but as we made our way out of the capital, we began a winding drive through the mountains and small towns of Northern South Korea. We arrived in Chuncheon around 9:45pm (thats 7:45am for all you Chicago folk) and I was happily greeted by my new home. From what I saw, it is quite small, apparently I can get across it on a bike in 20-30 min, yet it is lively! Bars and restaurants line the streets and at first thought, it reminds me of my wonderful stays in Utrech, Holland and Antwerp, Belgium. We drove past my apartment and my school, (just down the street from each other) and arrived at the Korean equivilant of a Motel 6. Without bothering to check-in, Mr. Choo brought me to my room, that greeted me with a warm red light that made one feel as though they had stepped into either a dark room, or off the beaten path of the Red Light District. I crashed hard and awoke at 4:30am, which seeing as its 2:30pm in Chicago, only tells me that my body is going to take quite some time to get adjusted here.

Today, I plan on meeting with my bosses and co-workers at school around 12:30, begin my training, and if I have the opportunity, explore a bit of the city. I have no idea what is in store for me, all I know is that this is right, and I’m excited as hell to get going with my work and my life here. Until next time….

A fitting quote from Ryszard Kapuscinski’s Travels With Herodotus:

“I was tempted to see what lay beyond, on the other side, I wondered what one experiences when one crosses the border. What does one feel? What does one think? It must be a moment of great emotion, agitation, tension. What is it like, on the other side? It must certainly be – different. But what does “different” mean? What does it look like? What does it resemble? Maybe it resembles nothing that I know, and thus is inconcievable, unimaginable? And so my greatest desire, which gave me no peace, which tormented me and tantalized me, was actually quite modest: I wanted one thing only – the moment, the act, the simple fact of crossing the border.”

Countdown To Korea

4 Days Until In Country…I think…