The subject of “Korean Dog Meat” is one which I purposely haven’t written about until now.
Why did I wait a year? The reason is really quite simple: I’m a Westerner.
As a Westerner, I had a strong bias on the subject before I moved here. Now that I’ve been living and breathing Korean culture for a full year, I feel like I’m now in a much better state of mind to write a balanced blog entry.
Let me first state that no, not all Koreans eat dog meat. While it was certainly a common Korean dish merely a few decades ago (especially after the Korean War at a time when beef and pork were difficult to obtain), it is becoming increasingly rare to find. Almost all restaurants in the major cities have removed dog meat from their menus, and people are beginning to adopt a “western outlook” regarding dogs as pets rather than a delicious source of lean meat.
Luxurious canine spas are popping up all over the country in response to the overwhelming demand to pamper these new pets. People are dishing out HUGE amounts of money to keep their furry friends groomed, full of expensive treats, and up-to-date with the latest fashion trends. Despite accepting this as “normal” practice, we are but a few countries that treat our pets better than our in-laws.
This morning was the first time I’ve ever witnessed the killing of a dog for meat.
The dog’s owner, a farmer, led it up onto a giant overturned bucket. He tied a thin wire around its neck, fastened it to the underside of an A-Frame ladder, and then pulled the bucket from under its legs. At first, the dog panicked and thrashed about back and forth with such viciousness that I thought the ladder would fall over. Its struggle only made the wire cut deeper into its neck as it spun around the central axis of the noose. A few moments later, its movements were reduced to full-body shudders, and then finally subsided to the occasional off-beat leg twitches. As quickly as it had started, it ended. The dog’s tongue hung off to the side as its eyes glazed over, staring straight up at the morning sky. Meanwhile, the farmer was off to one side, casually picking up branches that he had cut earlier from his apple tree.
…
I don’t like to see ANY animals die. Chickens, cows, pigs, and fish are all part of my regular diet, but I still have a difficult time seeing them being slaughtered for consumption.
But for me, seeing a dog being killed is on a whole different level of sensitivity. Why? In all honesty, I don’t know. They’re just animals like all the others…aren’t they?
Well, the answer isn’t a simple yes or no. From a scientific perspective, the answer is yes. From an anthropological perspective, the answer can be a resounding no. Different animals have been seen in different hierarchical levels at different points in history, and this varied tremendously by culture. I’m not going to try and debate which cultural ideals were (or currently are) morally right or wrong, I’m just trying to shed some light on a single event that prompted me to question the extent of my cultural “open-mindedness.”
I can easily debate either side of the “Korean Dog Meat” dispute, but what I can’t do is change the fact that I cringed as I watched a dog being killed this morning.
Some values are so deeply engrained that no amount of cultural immersion can completely remove them from the subconscious mind.
I will continue to eat meat, yet I will also buy our family dog his favourite treats when I return home to Canada.
I am not perfect.
I am, after all, just another animal…
- Ken
Friday, 16 July 2010
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Last Week of School
Wow. This is it. The last week of school.
I taught my first class barely eleven months ago, and now I’ve just completed my final lesson plan. I can’t believe it’s almost over.
I know I’m not a professional teacher, but I sure as hell gave it my best shot. I never had any previous teaching experience, I never had any teaching education, and I never had any preparations at all. But I do know for a fact that these kids took away something from my short time here in Korea.
I remember the first week of school like it was yesterday. The kids were wide-eyed and curious to see a “wehgook” (foreigner) in their school. They stared, waved, and occasionally said “hi,” but only from a distance. Now, I can walk around the school and have full conversations with them about what they did over the weekend, gossip about other teachers (“Did you know Mr. Kim picks his nose in the teachers room?”), or give the middle school boys some “girl advice” (they adore Jessica, and they want to know how to “get one” like her). Not only did their English fluency levels sky-rocket, but so did their level of confidence.
Koreans know how to study. They study hard, and they study a lot. So even if I didn’t have the formal training to put it all in there, I at least helped them to open up and get it all out.
Will they remember “Ken Teacher?”
…
- Ken
I taught my first class barely eleven months ago, and now I’ve just completed my final lesson plan. I can’t believe it’s almost over.
I know I’m not a professional teacher, but I sure as hell gave it my best shot. I never had any previous teaching experience, I never had any teaching education, and I never had any preparations at all. But I do know for a fact that these kids took away something from my short time here in Korea.
I remember the first week of school like it was yesterday. The kids were wide-eyed and curious to see a “wehgook” (foreigner) in their school. They stared, waved, and occasionally said “hi,” but only from a distance. Now, I can walk around the school and have full conversations with them about what they did over the weekend, gossip about other teachers (“Did you know Mr. Kim picks his nose in the teachers room?”), or give the middle school boys some “girl advice” (they adore Jessica, and they want to know how to “get one” like her). Not only did their English fluency levels sky-rocket, but so did their level of confidence.
Koreans know how to study. They study hard, and they study a lot. So even if I didn’t have the formal training to put it all in there, I at least helped them to open up and get it all out.
Will they remember “Ken Teacher?”
…
- Ken
Friday, 9 July 2010
Lunch with Korean Superstar Lee Hyori!
Walking around Seoul, Jess and I decided to stop in at a tiny sandwich café for a quick lunch.
As I stepped through the doorway, I saw one other person sitting at a table, quietly sipping a glass of water as she waited for her meal to arrive. She looked up, and I immediately recognized her as the Korean Superstar (and highest paid female singer in Korea) Lee Hyori!
I nudged Jess and quietly told her who it was. Jess didn’t believe me, but being an avid K-Pop fan before moving to Korea, I didn’t have a single doubt in my mind about her identity. Jess later told me that she also knew who it was but wasn’t AS sure about it as I was. Pffffft ya right…
We sat down at the table next to her, and took a quick peek at the menu. They had so many amazing sandwiches to offer, but I really couldn’t concentrate until settling her identity once and for all.
I leaned over and asked, “Excuse me, are you a singer?” She smiled and replied, “Yes, my name is Hyori. How do you know me?” The next part is kind of a blur, but I vaguely remember mumbling something about watching her music videos before coming to Korea. She was the one who hooked me onto K-Pop, and I would’ve never imagined myself eating lunch next to her.
To be honest, I really wasn’t nervous at all speaking to her at all. Looking back, I had every reason to be nervous, but she was just really easy-going and had more questions for us than we did for her. We talked about anything and everything, as if we were old friends just catching up on news. The next thing on her agenda was the filming of a “gochujang” commercial, and we could tell that she wasn’t too excited about it. We stayed with her as long as we could, slowly sipping our coffees and relaxing in the shade of the café.
When we finished lunch, she wrote down her e-mail address on the back of our receipt, and asked us to send her a message the next time we visited Seoul. Two Canadian backpackers would stand out in one of her celebrity parties like a sore thumb, but it would still be one hell of an experience.
We left the restaurant together, and she was immediately recognized by a group of passerby’s. There was a collective gasp, and they all started whispering in excited tones, occasionally daring to say her name. Hyori just pulled down her hat to cover her eyes, and kept walking with us up the street.
Away from the crowd, she hailed a cab to bring her to work. We said our goodbyes, and headed off on our separate ways.
- Ken
As I stepped through the doorway, I saw one other person sitting at a table, quietly sipping a glass of water as she waited for her meal to arrive. She looked up, and I immediately recognized her as the Korean Superstar (and highest paid female singer in Korea) Lee Hyori!
I nudged Jess and quietly told her who it was. Jess didn’t believe me, but being an avid K-Pop fan before moving to Korea, I didn’t have a single doubt in my mind about her identity. Jess later told me that she also knew who it was but wasn’t AS sure about it as I was. Pffffft ya right…
We sat down at the table next to her, and took a quick peek at the menu. They had so many amazing sandwiches to offer, but I really couldn’t concentrate until settling her identity once and for all.
I leaned over and asked, “Excuse me, are you a singer?” She smiled and replied, “Yes, my name is Hyori. How do you know me?” The next part is kind of a blur, but I vaguely remember mumbling something about watching her music videos before coming to Korea. She was the one who hooked me onto K-Pop, and I would’ve never imagined myself eating lunch next to her.
To be honest, I really wasn’t nervous at all speaking to her at all. Looking back, I had every reason to be nervous, but she was just really easy-going and had more questions for us than we did for her. We talked about anything and everything, as if we were old friends just catching up on news. The next thing on her agenda was the filming of a “gochujang” commercial, and we could tell that she wasn’t too excited about it. We stayed with her as long as we could, slowly sipping our coffees and relaxing in the shade of the café.
When we finished lunch, she wrote down her e-mail address on the back of our receipt, and asked us to send her a message the next time we visited Seoul. Two Canadian backpackers would stand out in one of her celebrity parties like a sore thumb, but it would still be one hell of an experience.
We left the restaurant together, and she was immediately recognized by a group of passerby’s. There was a collective gasp, and they all started whispering in excited tones, occasionally daring to say her name. Hyori just pulled down her hat to cover her eyes, and kept walking with us up the street.
Away from the crowd, she hailed a cab to bring her to work. We said our goodbyes, and headed off on our separate ways.
- Ken
Fight at the Indian Embassy
Gone are the days where you could simply throw on a backpack and travel the world.
Yes, there are still places that you can simply fly into, get your visa at the airport, and be on your way. But seeing as Jess and I are planning to trek through at least eight different countries, we couldn’t risk being turned away for a lack of paperwork. So far, the planning process hadn’t been overly difficult, but we were still missing one essential Visa; the Indian Visa.
This was by far the most frustrating process I’ve ever had to endure for something as small as a signature. For normal people doing a normal trip in a normal timeframe, getting the Visa wouldn’t be difficult at all. But we were trying to get a Visa in a foreign country, at an embassy that we couldn’t readily visit, and far too early to be processed through the regular system.
The nuisances we encountered along the way were far too numerous to outline in a blog entry, so I’ll try my best to sum them up as concisely as possible.
1) The Indian Ambassador was one of the rudest people I’ve ever met.
2) The Indian Ambassador loved his “veto” power… a lot.
3) The Indian Ambassador was an asshole.
As you can see, most of our problems originated from a single source. As Satan’s Indian sidekick, he did a fantastic job of doing everything in his power to suck as much of our souls as possible in the time we were in his office.
He flat-out told us that he wouldn’t let us into “his country.” When asked why, he simply stated, “Go to a different embassy.” We had ALL of our proper documents in order, we followed all of the steps outlined on the embassy website (and cross-checked with the Visa Services Canada website), and his signature was the final step for approval. And boy, did he ever make us work for that signature.
I did everything short of getting on my knees and begging him for it. The whole time I was arguing with him, he didn’t once look in my direction. He just sat back in his chair, eyeing his solid gold watch, and basking in his “power.”
After what felt like an eternity, he reached out with one hand, signed the paper, and dismissed us from his office with a series of quick “shooing” movements.
We ran out and didn’t look back…
- Ken
Yes, there are still places that you can simply fly into, get your visa at the airport, and be on your way. But seeing as Jess and I are planning to trek through at least eight different countries, we couldn’t risk being turned away for a lack of paperwork. So far, the planning process hadn’t been overly difficult, but we were still missing one essential Visa; the Indian Visa.
This was by far the most frustrating process I’ve ever had to endure for something as small as a signature. For normal people doing a normal trip in a normal timeframe, getting the Visa wouldn’t be difficult at all. But we were trying to get a Visa in a foreign country, at an embassy that we couldn’t readily visit, and far too early to be processed through the regular system.
The nuisances we encountered along the way were far too numerous to outline in a blog entry, so I’ll try my best to sum them up as concisely as possible.
1) The Indian Ambassador was one of the rudest people I’ve ever met.
2) The Indian Ambassador loved his “veto” power… a lot.
3) The Indian Ambassador was an asshole.
As you can see, most of our problems originated from a single source. As Satan’s Indian sidekick, he did a fantastic job of doing everything in his power to suck as much of our souls as possible in the time we were in his office.
He flat-out told us that he wouldn’t let us into “his country.” When asked why, he simply stated, “Go to a different embassy.” We had ALL of our proper documents in order, we followed all of the steps outlined on the embassy website (and cross-checked with the Visa Services Canada website), and his signature was the final step for approval. And boy, did he ever make us work for that signature.
I did everything short of getting on my knees and begging him for it. The whole time I was arguing with him, he didn’t once look in my direction. He just sat back in his chair, eyeing his solid gold watch, and basking in his “power.”
After what felt like an eternity, he reached out with one hand, signed the paper, and dismissed us from his office with a series of quick “shooing” movements.
We ran out and didn’t look back…
- Ken
Saturday, 3 July 2010
The Bat
My co-teacher and I were walking out of the cafeteria at Hyeonseo High School, when she noticed a fuzzy blob clinging to the mesh screen of the sliding door. In all honesty, the little mass of fur looked like a headless mouse, incomplete with a lack of appendages and a tail.
The cafeteria ladies quickly came over to see the reason for why we were staring blankly at the mesh screen. One of them happened to have a fly swatter on her, so she poked and prodded at the little grayish ball…
It sprouted some wings.
All four of the cafeteria ladies jumped back and screamed. All I could say was, “Aww…” The little blob was a tiny little bat, apparently unable to fly (what I deduced from the incessant prodding and lack of flight). My co-teacher swiftly took the fly swatter, unstuck the tiny creature, and quickly placed it into a bush in front of the cafeteria. We decided it was best to leave it there since lunch time was in ten minutes and we weren’t going to subject the teeny guy to the mercy of one hundred hungry high school and middle school students.
(Sigh)…I wanted to keep it…
- Jess
The cafeteria ladies quickly came over to see the reason for why we were staring blankly at the mesh screen. One of them happened to have a fly swatter on her, so she poked and prodded at the little grayish ball…
It sprouted some wings.
All four of the cafeteria ladies jumped back and screamed. All I could say was, “Aww…” The little blob was a tiny little bat, apparently unable to fly (what I deduced from the incessant prodding and lack of flight). My co-teacher swiftly took the fly swatter, unstuck the tiny creature, and quickly placed it into a bush in front of the cafeteria. We decided it was best to leave it there since lunch time was in ten minutes and we weren’t going to subject the teeny guy to the mercy of one hundred hungry high school and middle school students.
(Sigh)…I wanted to keep it…
- Jess
Friday, 2 July 2010
My Birthday!
From what I’ve seen this past year, my teachers don’t celebrate their birthdays at Andeok School. So today, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
Monday, June 14th. I received a wonderful call from my family this morning. Complete with wishes of a Happy Birthday and a special piano piece performed by my lovely sister, my day started out on a good note. However, the few hours that remained of my morning slowly turned sour as I continued my day with my craziest class of the week – my Andeok Middle School Grade 1 students. With their unrelenting lack of discipline, they were the start to every one of my beautiful weeks, draining me even before I could begin my second class. I certainly did feel older today…older, more tired, and my back strained from standing all day…
***
In the evening I felt much better. Ken made me a steak dinner, and surprised me with stargazing on the roof. He had cleaned up all of the intricately-spun cobwebs, watered down the black tar on the roof, and set up candles and balloons all over the roof’s edges. A blanket was laid out underneath the stars, and a cool breeze swirled around us. I lay down on the blanket and was as happy as ever. Ken disappeared for a few moments, and upon return, walked up the stairs of the roof, coming towards me with a tub of coffee-chocolate ice cream, topped with broken chocolate pieces, and lined with thin, glowing candles. I made my wish twice (since the wind blew out half of the candles before I could do so).
It was the best surprise that I could have wished for on my birthday. At the end of the night, I was certainly one year older, but with Ken, I felt one year younger, one year happier, one year more loved…
- Jess
Monday, June 14th. I received a wonderful call from my family this morning. Complete with wishes of a Happy Birthday and a special piano piece performed by my lovely sister, my day started out on a good note. However, the few hours that remained of my morning slowly turned sour as I continued my day with my craziest class of the week – my Andeok Middle School Grade 1 students. With their unrelenting lack of discipline, they were the start to every one of my beautiful weeks, draining me even before I could begin my second class. I certainly did feel older today…older, more tired, and my back strained from standing all day…
***
In the evening I felt much better. Ken made me a steak dinner, and surprised me with stargazing on the roof. He had cleaned up all of the intricately-spun cobwebs, watered down the black tar on the roof, and set up candles and balloons all over the roof’s edges. A blanket was laid out underneath the stars, and a cool breeze swirled around us. I lay down on the blanket and was as happy as ever. Ken disappeared for a few moments, and upon return, walked up the stairs of the roof, coming towards me with a tub of coffee-chocolate ice cream, topped with broken chocolate pieces, and lined with thin, glowing candles. I made my wish twice (since the wind blew out half of the candles before I could do so).
It was the best surprise that I could have wished for on my birthday. At the end of the night, I was certainly one year older, but with Ken, I felt one year younger, one year happier, one year more loved…
- Jess
Thursday, 1 July 2010
The World Cup in Andeok
Saturday, June 12th. It was a tiresome evening in Andeok. Both Ken and I had just finished a Saturday’s worth of English camps, and we were utterly exhausted.
Despite covering hours upon hours of camp activities with our students, we mustered enough energy to attend another of Andeok’s community events – watching the 2010 World Cup, South Korea vs. Greece, live from the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium in South Africa.
There were a fair number of Andeok residents sitting on the ground in a field in front of the local police station. They placed themselves on flattened out cardboard boxes and picnic mats. Ken and I both received Red Devils’ (the South Korean soccer mascot) t-shirts and pairs of inflated clappers to cheer on the soccer team representing South Korea.
Moments before the game was projected onto the screen, men with hard, hanging drums, spurred on the crowd with their strong, solid beat. Everyone was shouting “Dae-han-meen-guk!” (The Republic of Korea!) and hitting their clappers together.
Finally, the game began. The first goal was a perfect setup. In mid-flight, one of the soccer players kicked the ball into the net, which turned our little community into an uproar. In the second period, another mighty goal was scored by South Korea. The players of Greece’s team seemed to grow tired. However, South Korea’s Red Devils seemed to maintain their drive until the very last seconds of the game. No matter which direction the game was teetering towards, it was clear that South Korea fully supported its country’s representatives. Every moment of the game was devoted to shouts and screams of encouragement, the banging of the drums, the inflated clappers, and the hypnotizing chant, “Dae-han-meen-guuk!”.
After two hours of “on-the-edge-of-your-seat” soccer action, two praise worthy-goals by Lee Chun Soo and Park Ji-Sung, an overall score of 2-0 favouring South Korea, and over two hundred deflated clappers, everyone was buzzed and must’ve had a good night’s sleep, exhausted from their enthusiastic cheering.
However, the night was not over for me, Ken, and Justin (the Andeok Elementary School English teacher who joined Ken and I during intermission). We stopped by our local convenience store to buy some celebratory ice cream, and found the owner red-faced and beaming with excitement. He told us that he watched the game on his small TV, which was rested at the top of one of his shelves, and downed seven beers while doing so. He continued with his eighth after offering us some beer in celebration.
After spending more time than we had expected in the store and reliving the highlights of the game, the owner urged us to have one drink with him at a bar. Remembering the last time we were supposed to have one drink at the bar (it turned out to be several), we tried to turn him down gently, but he was quite persistent.
***
After the store owner closed up shop, Justin, Ken and I walked down the street with him, while he took our arms in his own and swayed from side to side. We eventually made it to the bar…the owner, slowly rubbed her eyes as she had just been woken up by us.
She welcomed us in, as we apologized for our late entrance, and set us up with anjou (snacks) and beer. From dried seaweed and a medley of fruits, to succulent, marinated beef, we happily filled our stomachs with the delicious late night snack. About an hour after our noisy entrance into the bar, we were completely spent, exhausted from the seat-gripped game that was the South Korea vs. Greece World Cup match.
Dae-han-meen-guk…zzzz…
‘Twas a good night.
- Jess
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Saturday, 12 June 2010
The Andeok Cats
I was peacefully working away at the computer when I caught two movements out of the corner of my eye.
On top of the neighbour’s shabby outhouse (her bathroom), there was one large, calico cat, and one tiny grey, striped kitten. Looking nothing alike, I assumed that the larger cat had adopted the smaller one.
It appeared as though the calico mother was trying to teach her kitten how to climb down a tree leaning against the roof of the outhouse. The kitten, while attempting it at first, quickly inched back onto the roof.
I thought, what a moment worthy of a video! I ran for my camera and started to shoot the darling cats in one of life’s most important lessons.
Its mother climbed halfway up the sturdy tree trunk, meowing…trying to convince her baby to face her fears. The little guy didn’t budge. The calico cat then went on to leap onto the roof, bite the kitten by the nape of its neck, and pull it towards the edge of the roof. The kitten tried once more, but couldn’t overcome its vertigo. It scurried away into a hole, just underneath the outhouse’s roof. The mother cat was just about to go after her kitten…when she spotted me, holding my camera, in the sunroom.
For one hour she didn’t move. Frozen like a statue, she kept her eyes locked on me, in one iced-over glare from the rooftop. I was afraid to leave the house. She then raced to the ground, focusing her gaze upon me once more, only having it broken by another cat, a grey, striped cat. He must’ve been the father. I thought of it then. The two stray cats, doing their dirty business inside of our neighbour’s roof…producing a baby that couldn’t even leave the vicinity of two square meters, all around.
I warned Ken of the cats by phone. They were right beside the walkway to our house, and I was confident that they would be keeping a watchful eye on anyone passing by.
A couple days later, we left a peace offering at the bottom of the tree trunk – a dish of flakey tuna. The next day, it was licked empty.
- Jess
On top of the neighbour’s shabby outhouse (her bathroom), there was one large, calico cat, and one tiny grey, striped kitten. Looking nothing alike, I assumed that the larger cat had adopted the smaller one.
It appeared as though the calico mother was trying to teach her kitten how to climb down a tree leaning against the roof of the outhouse. The kitten, while attempting it at first, quickly inched back onto the roof.
I thought, what a moment worthy of a video! I ran for my camera and started to shoot the darling cats in one of life’s most important lessons.
Its mother climbed halfway up the sturdy tree trunk, meowing…trying to convince her baby to face her fears. The little guy didn’t budge. The calico cat then went on to leap onto the roof, bite the kitten by the nape of its neck, and pull it towards the edge of the roof. The kitten tried once more, but couldn’t overcome its vertigo. It scurried away into a hole, just underneath the outhouse’s roof. The mother cat was just about to go after her kitten…when she spotted me, holding my camera, in the sunroom.
For one hour she didn’t move. Frozen like a statue, she kept her eyes locked on me, in one iced-over glare from the rooftop. I was afraid to leave the house. She then raced to the ground, focusing her gaze upon me once more, only having it broken by another cat, a grey, striped cat. He must’ve been the father. I thought of it then. The two stray cats, doing their dirty business inside of our neighbour’s roof…producing a baby that couldn’t even leave the vicinity of two square meters, all around.
I warned Ken of the cats by phone. They were right beside the walkway to our house, and I was confident that they would be keeping a watchful eye on anyone passing by.
A couple days later, we left a peace offering at the bottom of the tree trunk – a dish of flakey tuna. The next day, it was licked empty.
- Jess
Friday, 28 May 2010
Ken’s Birthday!
My plans for Ken’s birthday were cancelled. Thanks to Seoul for being a hotspot for a North Korean attack, all weekend events that I had scheduled were turned to mush. I was trying to make the best of this ridiculous situation, so after school, I went shopping for some festivities.
As I was lugging home one bottle of red wine, one bottle of sparkling wine, nine large beers, a 2-litre jug of milk, and other groceries, I received a text from Ilana on my cell phone. Sounding ecstatic, she asked if Ken and I wanted to celebrate a birthday in Andong.
Completely oblivious about the text’s real meaning, I replied, ‘But, it’s Ken’s birthday today’. I was carrying litres and litres of liquid goodness…give me a break.
She soon texted back, ‘Of course I mean Ken’s birthday!’. So, through a series of texts and phone calls, Ken and I were on our way to the city of Andong to celebrate this glorious day that was Ken’s birthday.
***
A little uneasy from the bus ride, Ken and I opted for some kimbap for supper. To jump start our evening, a drunken man walked up to Ken, swaying from side to side, and asked for the rest of Ken’s kimbap. Trying to butter him up, the man exclaimed how honoured he felt to talk with a foreigner. After minutes of smelling the beer and soju waft off of the man’s breath and dirt-ridden clothes, Ken gave the man his kimbap, just smiling and nodding as he refused the man’s blackened, grimy hands.
We finally met up with Corey and Ilana, who had just finished doing a write-up on jjimdak (a popular Andong chicken dish). Tagging along were two of their friends, one who had befriended Corey after giving him a ride in his car, and the other, a newly made friend who was a random traveler from the Czech Republic.
All of us started towards our first event – bowling. It was going to be mine and Ken’s first time bowling in Andong. Our scores reflected our lack of practice at the sport, but we had a ton of laughs, nevertheless. Sometimes we were lacking bowling pins and at other times, bowling pins were blocking other ones from being renewed. Calling upon the bowling manager at every occurrence, we watched as he was eaten countless times by the bowling-pin-gobbler, climbing over and through the machines to reset our pins. Not to worry, he made it out alive, every time :).
After our series of gutterballs, and random spares and strikes, we headed downtown towards a fancy bar owned by the brother-in-law of Corey and Ilana’s friend. Downing enormous pitchers of Cass beer, macqueli (Korean rice wine) and bucheemgae (Korean pancake), the night was almost over.
What would a birthday be without a cake? Luckily, Ilana was able to whisk away into the night and return with a delectable chocolate chiffon cake from a Korean bakery. After firing the birthday poppers from the cake, we all sang Happy Birthday to the 23-year-old birthday boy, and dove into the delectable, creamy cake.
However, the night wasn’t over. Stopping by a 7 Eleven for some munchies, Corey, Ilana, their Czech friend, Ken and I bought an array of beer, from Hite, Cass, to Hoegarden. Situating ourselves on the top level of a beautiful pagoda, encasing an old, oxidized-green bell, we discussed the different views people had on the rising tensions between North Korea and South Korea, from the opinions of South Korean natives, to all foreigners alike, residing in South Korea. We put forth ideas for evacuation strategies and suggested possible travel routes across Korea for our Czech friend during these delicate times. It was a discussion topic that fueled itself, although not very fitting for the last couple hours of Ken’s birthday :). However, the night ended on such a good note, with all of us gazing out into the black abyss of the night, calmly taking in the cool breeze, sedated by the cool, crisp beer we had just consumed.
On behalf of me and Ken, I would like to thank Corey and Ilana for turning Ken’s day into an actual birthday celebration. You guys are the best :).
- Jess
As I was lugging home one bottle of red wine, one bottle of sparkling wine, nine large beers, a 2-litre jug of milk, and other groceries, I received a text from Ilana on my cell phone. Sounding ecstatic, she asked if Ken and I wanted to celebrate a birthday in Andong.
Completely oblivious about the text’s real meaning, I replied, ‘But, it’s Ken’s birthday today’. I was carrying litres and litres of liquid goodness…give me a break.
She soon texted back, ‘Of course I mean Ken’s birthday!’. So, through a series of texts and phone calls, Ken and I were on our way to the city of Andong to celebrate this glorious day that was Ken’s birthday.
***
A little uneasy from the bus ride, Ken and I opted for some kimbap for supper. To jump start our evening, a drunken man walked up to Ken, swaying from side to side, and asked for the rest of Ken’s kimbap. Trying to butter him up, the man exclaimed how honoured he felt to talk with a foreigner. After minutes of smelling the beer and soju waft off of the man’s breath and dirt-ridden clothes, Ken gave the man his kimbap, just smiling and nodding as he refused the man’s blackened, grimy hands.
We finally met up with Corey and Ilana, who had just finished doing a write-up on jjimdak (a popular Andong chicken dish). Tagging along were two of their friends, one who had befriended Corey after giving him a ride in his car, and the other, a newly made friend who was a random traveler from the Czech Republic.
All of us started towards our first event – bowling. It was going to be mine and Ken’s first time bowling in Andong. Our scores reflected our lack of practice at the sport, but we had a ton of laughs, nevertheless. Sometimes we were lacking bowling pins and at other times, bowling pins were blocking other ones from being renewed. Calling upon the bowling manager at every occurrence, we watched as he was eaten countless times by the bowling-pin-gobbler, climbing over and through the machines to reset our pins. Not to worry, he made it out alive, every time :).
After our series of gutterballs, and random spares and strikes, we headed downtown towards a fancy bar owned by the brother-in-law of Corey and Ilana’s friend. Downing enormous pitchers of Cass beer, macqueli (Korean rice wine) and bucheemgae (Korean pancake), the night was almost over.
What would a birthday be without a cake? Luckily, Ilana was able to whisk away into the night and return with a delectable chocolate chiffon cake from a Korean bakery. After firing the birthday poppers from the cake, we all sang Happy Birthday to the 23-year-old birthday boy, and dove into the delectable, creamy cake.
However, the night wasn’t over. Stopping by a 7 Eleven for some munchies, Corey, Ilana, their Czech friend, Ken and I bought an array of beer, from Hite, Cass, to Hoegarden. Situating ourselves on the top level of a beautiful pagoda, encasing an old, oxidized-green bell, we discussed the different views people had on the rising tensions between North Korea and South Korea, from the opinions of South Korean natives, to all foreigners alike, residing in South Korea. We put forth ideas for evacuation strategies and suggested possible travel routes across Korea for our Czech friend during these delicate times. It was a discussion topic that fueled itself, although not very fitting for the last couple hours of Ken’s birthday :). However, the night ended on such a good note, with all of us gazing out into the black abyss of the night, calmly taking in the cool breeze, sedated by the cool, crisp beer we had just consumed.
On behalf of me and Ken, I would like to thank Corey and Ilana for turning Ken’s day into an actual birthday celebration. You guys are the best :).
- Jess
Ken’s Birthday! (On Paper)
I had waited a whole month for this day. For weeks upon weeks, I tactfully and secretly scanned the upcoming weather in any Korean weather website I could find. My plan for Ken’s birthday was to be a masterpiece, painted to perfection from start to finish, with daytime events, nighttime events, transportation routes from one place to another, and a heck of a lot of food. I was so antsy for this day, especially since it was going to be a surprise.
Friday
We were to begin Ken’s birthday weekend on the Han riverside under the moonlight, nomnoming on some picnic goodies and sipping on drops of sparkling champagne. I had planned to pull out a crepe cake that I had made hours before, drizzled in layers of decadent chocolate ganache, just waiting to be licked off the fingers. I would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him, in the best voice I could, hoping that the thought would count, more than anything.
Saturday
I dedicated this weekend towards fun. I figured that this would be the one weekend where Ken and I could let loose.
The first event of the morning was to spend the day at the Seoul Racecourse Park. Since Ken and I aren’t avid gamblers, I researched and printed off a list of the race times, the fastest horses, the best jockeys of the season, how to bet, and how to collect winnings. Bet limits were from 100 won (10 cents) to 100,000 won (100 dollars). I took out 100,000 won from the ATM to prepare for how risky we were to feel that morning.
Inside the racecourse track, we were to walk the sunny paths laid out in between gardens, and perhaps, enjoy the children’s water park, set up for tired parents…
In the evening, I had planned a route from the Racecourse Park to the nationally famous rollercoaster theme park, Everland. Naturally, this item on the agenda was to let out Ken’s inner child (and mine) :).
The cherry on top of our night was to have dinner in the foreigner-friendly region, Itaewon. Since Ken and I don’t have a selection of any ethnic food in Andeok, I thought that a choice of Indian, Italian, Japanese, or any dish other than Korean would be a treat for this night.
***
Unfortunately, none of the above actually happened. We decided that Seoul was too unpredictable a place for this weekend, mainly due to the current tensions, caused by the Cheonan Incident, between North and South Korea, and the escalated rioting near the Seoul City Hall by Korean War veterans. We couldn’t risk setting aside North Korea’s threats of retaliation against the south, if South Korea continued to put blame on the north for the sinking of the Cheonan ship. It made us a little queasy to know that four North Korean war submarines had gone off-the-grid, and the U.S. and South Korea were aggressively searching for them. We didn’t want to be meandering around the heart of Seoul while South Korea was setting up anti-propaganda speakers along the DMZ, projected at the north. We took into consideration North Korea’s reaction of threatening to blast those anti-propaganda speakers into oblivion, which could commence the second Korean War…
It’s better to be safe than sorry, right?
- Jess
Friday
We were to begin Ken’s birthday weekend on the Han riverside under the moonlight, nomnoming on some picnic goodies and sipping on drops of sparkling champagne. I had planned to pull out a crepe cake that I had made hours before, drizzled in layers of decadent chocolate ganache, just waiting to be licked off the fingers. I would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him, in the best voice I could, hoping that the thought would count, more than anything.
Saturday
I dedicated this weekend towards fun. I figured that this would be the one weekend where Ken and I could let loose.
The first event of the morning was to spend the day at the Seoul Racecourse Park. Since Ken and I aren’t avid gamblers, I researched and printed off a list of the race times, the fastest horses, the best jockeys of the season, how to bet, and how to collect winnings. Bet limits were from 100 won (10 cents) to 100,000 won (100 dollars). I took out 100,000 won from the ATM to prepare for how risky we were to feel that morning.
Inside the racecourse track, we were to walk the sunny paths laid out in between gardens, and perhaps, enjoy the children’s water park, set up for tired parents…
In the evening, I had planned a route from the Racecourse Park to the nationally famous rollercoaster theme park, Everland. Naturally, this item on the agenda was to let out Ken’s inner child (and mine) :).
The cherry on top of our night was to have dinner in the foreigner-friendly region, Itaewon. Since Ken and I don’t have a selection of any ethnic food in Andeok, I thought that a choice of Indian, Italian, Japanese, or any dish other than Korean would be a treat for this night.
***
Unfortunately, none of the above actually happened. We decided that Seoul was too unpredictable a place for this weekend, mainly due to the current tensions, caused by the Cheonan Incident, between North and South Korea, and the escalated rioting near the Seoul City Hall by Korean War veterans. We couldn’t risk setting aside North Korea’s threats of retaliation against the south, if South Korea continued to put blame on the north for the sinking of the Cheonan ship. It made us a little queasy to know that four North Korean war submarines had gone off-the-grid, and the U.S. and South Korea were aggressively searching for them. We didn’t want to be meandering around the heart of Seoul while South Korea was setting up anti-propaganda speakers along the DMZ, projected at the north. We took into consideration North Korea’s reaction of threatening to blast those anti-propaganda speakers into oblivion, which could commence the second Korean War…
It’s better to be safe than sorry, right?
- Jess
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Sunday, 16 May 2010
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Daegu Marathon
A few days ago, Ken and I ran the Daegu International Marathon with some of his Korean co-teachers and high school students. His co-teacher ran 5 kilometers, another Korean teacher ran 21 kilometers, and Ken, his high school students, and I ran the 10 kilometer marathon.
The marathon began at 8:30am and we hadn’t eaten anything in the morning (abiding to the advice of one of the teachers). The only thing that was lying in our stomachs was the Mexican food that Ken and I had eaten the night before. Mexican food the night before a race…it seemed like a good idea at the time.
***
The 10-kilometer timer began and Ken and I were off, running with a crowd of hundreds of people. There were men, women, students, and children in short-shorts, track suits, and flashy, neon marathon gear, as well as teams of people from companies and banks, running to the steady beats of a whistle.
After about 2.5 kilometers, I lost Ken in the crowd, and was feeling something stirring in the pit of my stomach. It seemed that I hadn’t made peace with what I had eaten the night before. As I rounded a corner, I saw my only chance of ridding the sickly burden that was weighing me down. A gas station was majestically standing to my right and its restroom was bidding me vomit in it. So I did.
I threw up everything that my stomach had to offer and felt pretty good…much better than I had just a few moments before. I spent a good fifteen minutes dry heaving and calming myself down before emerging from the dank washroom.
Avoiding the offers of Gatorade and water throughout the race, and keeping my mindset focused on finishing, I managed to cross the finish line, with Ken waiting for me. Despite being covered in sweat, he was all smiles.
What a great run. I vomited twice (once more after the race), but it was all worth it. 10 kilometers, uphill, in the blazing sun…my participation medal will hang on my wall with pride :).
- Jess
The marathon began at 8:30am and we hadn’t eaten anything in the morning (abiding to the advice of one of the teachers). The only thing that was lying in our stomachs was the Mexican food that Ken and I had eaten the night before. Mexican food the night before a race…it seemed like a good idea at the time.
***
The 10-kilometer timer began and Ken and I were off, running with a crowd of hundreds of people. There were men, women, students, and children in short-shorts, track suits, and flashy, neon marathon gear, as well as teams of people from companies and banks, running to the steady beats of a whistle.
After about 2.5 kilometers, I lost Ken in the crowd, and was feeling something stirring in the pit of my stomach. It seemed that I hadn’t made peace with what I had eaten the night before. As I rounded a corner, I saw my only chance of ridding the sickly burden that was weighing me down. A gas station was majestically standing to my right and its restroom was bidding me vomit in it. So I did.
I threw up everything that my stomach had to offer and felt pretty good…much better than I had just a few moments before. I spent a good fifteen minutes dry heaving and calming myself down before emerging from the dank washroom.
Avoiding the offers of Gatorade and water throughout the race, and keeping my mindset focused on finishing, I managed to cross the finish line, with Ken waiting for me. Despite being covered in sweat, he was all smiles.
What a great run. I vomited twice (once more after the race), but it was all worth it. 10 kilometers, uphill, in the blazing sun…my participation medal will hang on my wall with pride :).
- Jess
Monday, 10 May 2010
Our Neighbour’s Fire Alarm
A couple of months ago, the incessant beeping began. It was originating from our next door neighbour’s home, and day and night, the noise never ceased, never slowed, never quieted down. We were so worried that we even called Aunt Kimchi to make a house call next door. After she visited our neighbour’s shack, the beeping stopped.
Recently, the beeping started up again. All we can hear is “beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep…” coming from next door. Aunt Kimchi thought nothing of the beeping when I called her and told me that the noise would pass. Obviously she wasn’t being exposed to the high-pitched sound piercing into the night.
Ken and I decided to take matters into our own hands.
(Our neighbour’s home is much like the traditional homes that Korea had in the 1950’s. With now crumbling concrete walls, a stick roof, and a ratty, wooden, gate-like door, we wonder how she makes it through each winter living inside her paper-thin walls.)
As we gently knocked on her door, we could literally see into her kitchen through the gaping cracks between the wooden planks of her door. Some of them had been filled in with old newspapers and pieces of cardboard. We could see a shadow lurking just beyond the crevices of her door.
She opened her door, and the cause of the repetitive noise was apparent. Her fire alarm was painfully beeping, not because of a fire, but simply because of the steam and smoke that was hovering over her dinner, bubbling on the stovetop. It was clear that she didn’t make an effort to turn the alarm off – it had been going for days on end, and someone had decided to install it a foot beyond her grasp. So, she let it run…while she cooked, slept, and went out.
I explained our unexpected presence, and she distressfully communicated that she couldn’t reach the fire detector, let alone figure out how to reset it.
As Ken slowly pulled the alarm off from the ceiling, he opened it up, and pulled out the battery. After several tries, we both realized that the reset button wasn’t working on the alarm and the only way to terminate the sound was to detach the battery from the unit every time it went off.
She refused to have the alarm installed in her bedroom, and opted to have it moved to her bathroom (an outdoor port-a-potty). I explained that the purpose of the fire alarm was to detect smoke, and that there would be no use for it by placing it in an open bathroom. She shrugged, and suggested other walls outside on which to attach it. After a few suggestions thrown around, she finally agreed on the kitchen (despite it being awfully drafty).
Ken installed the alarm on the wall (within her reach), and left the battery to dangle out of the bottom of the device for easy disconnection. He then explained to her how to disconnect and reconnect the battery (a difficult task for a woman of her age). It took a several tries and some assistance, but she finally got it.
***
(10 minutes later…)
Ken and I were heading out to the convenience store and had just reached the end of our driveway, when the utterly pestering beeping sounded again. We stood silently; waiting patiently for her to follow the steps we had taught her… After a few minutes, we gave up and decided to once again pay her a visit. We found her in the kitchen, thoroughly frustrated with the entire situation. She had decided to leave the alarm going again, and urged us to disconnect the battery and leave it alone. She didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Defeated, Ken and I suggested that she have a new one installed (hopefully with a working reset button), and prayed that she would take our advice.
There have been no new incidences…
- Jess
Recently, the beeping started up again. All we can hear is “beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep…” coming from next door. Aunt Kimchi thought nothing of the beeping when I called her and told me that the noise would pass. Obviously she wasn’t being exposed to the high-pitched sound piercing into the night.
Ken and I decided to take matters into our own hands.
(Our neighbour’s home is much like the traditional homes that Korea had in the 1950’s. With now crumbling concrete walls, a stick roof, and a ratty, wooden, gate-like door, we wonder how she makes it through each winter living inside her paper-thin walls.)
As we gently knocked on her door, we could literally see into her kitchen through the gaping cracks between the wooden planks of her door. Some of them had been filled in with old newspapers and pieces of cardboard. We could see a shadow lurking just beyond the crevices of her door.
She opened her door, and the cause of the repetitive noise was apparent. Her fire alarm was painfully beeping, not because of a fire, but simply because of the steam and smoke that was hovering over her dinner, bubbling on the stovetop. It was clear that she didn’t make an effort to turn the alarm off – it had been going for days on end, and someone had decided to install it a foot beyond her grasp. So, she let it run…while she cooked, slept, and went out.
I explained our unexpected presence, and she distressfully communicated that she couldn’t reach the fire detector, let alone figure out how to reset it.
As Ken slowly pulled the alarm off from the ceiling, he opened it up, and pulled out the battery. After several tries, we both realized that the reset button wasn’t working on the alarm and the only way to terminate the sound was to detach the battery from the unit every time it went off.
She refused to have the alarm installed in her bedroom, and opted to have it moved to her bathroom (an outdoor port-a-potty). I explained that the purpose of the fire alarm was to detect smoke, and that there would be no use for it by placing it in an open bathroom. She shrugged, and suggested other walls outside on which to attach it. After a few suggestions thrown around, she finally agreed on the kitchen (despite it being awfully drafty).
Ken installed the alarm on the wall (within her reach), and left the battery to dangle out of the bottom of the device for easy disconnection. He then explained to her how to disconnect and reconnect the battery (a difficult task for a woman of her age). It took a several tries and some assistance, but she finally got it.
***
(10 minutes later…)
Ken and I were heading out to the convenience store and had just reached the end of our driveway, when the utterly pestering beeping sounded again. We stood silently; waiting patiently for her to follow the steps we had taught her… After a few minutes, we gave up and decided to once again pay her a visit. We found her in the kitchen, thoroughly frustrated with the entire situation. She had decided to leave the alarm going again, and urged us to disconnect the battery and leave it alone. She didn’t want to deal with it anymore. Defeated, Ken and I suggested that she have a new one installed (hopefully with a working reset button), and prayed that she would take our advice.
There have been no new incidences…
- Jess
The Long Ride Home
I was returning home from Daegu. What was supposed to be an hour and a half bus ride to Andeok turned into a horrible, horrible experience.
I remember it well… Getting my bus ticket from the booth at the Dongbu (East Daegu) Bus Terminal felt like routine. I was greeted by the man sitting beside the turnstile, checking tickets. He immediately recognized me after past countless times of “Andeok? You mean Andong, right? Why do you want to go to Andeok?” This time, however, he just smiled, punched a hole through my flimsy ticket, and let me pass.
I was heading towards the bus that was labeled ‘Yeongcheon and Andong’ – my usual route. The driver, who was smoking a cigarette on the bench beside his bus, shouted to me, “Where are you going?” I shouted back, “Andeok! Not Andong…An-DEOK.” He nodded, yelled back a Yeeaah! (the Korean equivalent of yup) and I proceeded to get onto the bus.
The bus stopped first in Yeongcheon, which seemed normal to me. The bus I usually take always stops in Yeongcheon. I was satisfied that I didn’t have to stare out the window to make sure of where I was going…so I dozed off for a little bit.
When I opened my eyes, everything was fuzzy. For a few minutes, my eyes were glazed over and I couldn’t distinguish blur from blur outside the window. When I could finally make out the word MOTEL plastered on many of them, I started to get suspicious. Everything looked out of the ordinary. I glanced up at one tall building and thought that I saw the word Pohang in big, vibrant, blue letters. Shaking it off, I waited until I could see something that I recognized. I went over the securities I had set before I entered the bus – I had confirmed with the bus driver that I was heading towards Andeok and that the bus onto which I was boarding was labeled ‘Yeongcheon and Andong’.
The bus stopped. The bus driver started coming down the aisle, collecting tickets along the way. I handed him my ticket and he studied it intently. Then there was the shouting. The driver was screaming at me and I had no idea why. Of course, I found out seconds after the foam had disappeared from his mouth. This bus was directed towards ‘Yeongcheon, Pohang, and then to Andong’. I countered his screaming with the fact that I had confirmed my destination with him, twice. He didn’t listen. Frustrated, he continued down the aisle, until he had collected all of the tickets, went back to his seat, and continued driving.
Only a few minutes had passed when we stopped at the next bus station – Pohang. I was far east of my destination, an hour and fifteen minutes away from home, and the last bus to Andeok had left an hour earlier. As I exited the bus, he snatched my ticket from my hand and shooed me off of the bus. Thanks Mr. Bus Driver. You really screwed up my night.
Now, I could’ve stayed in Pohang for the night. I could’ve slept in a motel and enjoyed the luxuries of a moderately-sized city. But no. I wanted to be at home, relaxing with Ken and watching a movie.
As I was trying to reason with the women at the Pohang ticket booth, a bus moderator tried to help me with various routes that I could take back home. Each potential option was shot down by the women…it looked like I was stuck in Pohang.
However, the sweet old moderator grabbed my arm and wasn’t going to give up. He was determined to get me back to Andeok. He explained my situation to the manager of the bus terminal, I was soon swarmed by five men, all trying to find a solution to my predicament. I don’t know how they did it, but after twenty minutes of talking on their cell phones, they found one taxi driver who was willing to drive me to Andeok for 40,000 won ($40). I was flabbergasted that they had arranged this for me and I was also a little scared that a stranger was willing to drive me an hour and a half northward to Andeok.
The taxi ride wasn’t too bad, except for the eerie silence that lingered throughout the car. The mysterious darkness of the countryside and the vast emptiness of the farmlands kept me wide-awake for the entire duration of the trip. My hands were quivering, ready to strike at the eyes, or throat. My feet were shaking, ready to kick the groin of anyone coming too close to my personal bubble.
Luckily, I didn’t have to maim anyone. Except for the unforeseen situation where the driver tried to charge me 10,000 won more, I arrived home safely, learning my lesson to never put my trust in bus drivers again. This experience will not happen a second time around.
- Jess
I remember it well… Getting my bus ticket from the booth at the Dongbu (East Daegu) Bus Terminal felt like routine. I was greeted by the man sitting beside the turnstile, checking tickets. He immediately recognized me after past countless times of “Andeok? You mean Andong, right? Why do you want to go to Andeok?” This time, however, he just smiled, punched a hole through my flimsy ticket, and let me pass.
I was heading towards the bus that was labeled ‘Yeongcheon and Andong’ – my usual route. The driver, who was smoking a cigarette on the bench beside his bus, shouted to me, “Where are you going?” I shouted back, “Andeok! Not Andong…An-DEOK.” He nodded, yelled back a Yeeaah! (the Korean equivalent of yup) and I proceeded to get onto the bus.
The bus stopped first in Yeongcheon, which seemed normal to me. The bus I usually take always stops in Yeongcheon. I was satisfied that I didn’t have to stare out the window to make sure of where I was going…so I dozed off for a little bit.
When I opened my eyes, everything was fuzzy. For a few minutes, my eyes were glazed over and I couldn’t distinguish blur from blur outside the window. When I could finally make out the word MOTEL plastered on many of them, I started to get suspicious. Everything looked out of the ordinary. I glanced up at one tall building and thought that I saw the word Pohang in big, vibrant, blue letters. Shaking it off, I waited until I could see something that I recognized. I went over the securities I had set before I entered the bus – I had confirmed with the bus driver that I was heading towards Andeok and that the bus onto which I was boarding was labeled ‘Yeongcheon and Andong’.
The bus stopped. The bus driver started coming down the aisle, collecting tickets along the way. I handed him my ticket and he studied it intently. Then there was the shouting. The driver was screaming at me and I had no idea why. Of course, I found out seconds after the foam had disappeared from his mouth. This bus was directed towards ‘Yeongcheon, Pohang, and then to Andong’. I countered his screaming with the fact that I had confirmed my destination with him, twice. He didn’t listen. Frustrated, he continued down the aisle, until he had collected all of the tickets, went back to his seat, and continued driving.
Only a few minutes had passed when we stopped at the next bus station – Pohang. I was far east of my destination, an hour and fifteen minutes away from home, and the last bus to Andeok had left an hour earlier. As I exited the bus, he snatched my ticket from my hand and shooed me off of the bus. Thanks Mr. Bus Driver. You really screwed up my night.
Now, I could’ve stayed in Pohang for the night. I could’ve slept in a motel and enjoyed the luxuries of a moderately-sized city. But no. I wanted to be at home, relaxing with Ken and watching a movie.
As I was trying to reason with the women at the Pohang ticket booth, a bus moderator tried to help me with various routes that I could take back home. Each potential option was shot down by the women…it looked like I was stuck in Pohang.
However, the sweet old moderator grabbed my arm and wasn’t going to give up. He was determined to get me back to Andeok. He explained my situation to the manager of the bus terminal, I was soon swarmed by five men, all trying to find a solution to my predicament. I don’t know how they did it, but after twenty minutes of talking on their cell phones, they found one taxi driver who was willing to drive me to Andeok for 40,000 won ($40). I was flabbergasted that they had arranged this for me and I was also a little scared that a stranger was willing to drive me an hour and a half northward to Andeok.
The taxi ride wasn’t too bad, except for the eerie silence that lingered throughout the car. The mysterious darkness of the countryside and the vast emptiness of the farmlands kept me wide-awake for the entire duration of the trip. My hands were quivering, ready to strike at the eyes, or throat. My feet were shaking, ready to kick the groin of anyone coming too close to my personal bubble.
Luckily, I didn’t have to maim anyone. Except for the unforeseen situation where the driver tried to charge me 10,000 won more, I arrived home safely, learning my lesson to never put my trust in bus drivers again. This experience will not happen a second time around.
- Jess
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