Stranded in the Mountains

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Today, I got on the wrong bus.

How did this happen? I blame the old ladies at the bus stop.

As with every Wednesday and Friday morning, my transfer at the Bunam bus station began in the exact same way. I got off the bus from Andeok, thanked the bus driver as I handed him my ticket, walked to the ticket booth, wished the friendly ticket lady a good morning, wished the store clerk next door a good morning, sat down my laptop case on the bench, and spent the next fifteen minutes pacing around. Most of the time, my conversations are very limited. A simple “hello” to the kids walking by just makes them stare, giggle, wave, and run away. But sometimes I’ll be approached by curious locals who rapid-fire Korean questions at me in the odd chance that I could understand. By now I’ve realized that the questions are almost always the same, so I have a fairly good set of responses for them (in Korean of course):

“Canada. Andeok. English teacher. Bunam Middle School and Gucheon Middle School. Yes. Yes. Sorry, my Korean is not very good. Ok. Thank you. Nice to meet you. Goodbye!”

90% of the time, this will result in a polite bow and a huge smile.

My understanding of Korean has tripled since I’ve been here, but if I let on that I understand (at least partially) what they’re saying, I’ve opened the floodgates of conversation. I do love practicing my Korean, but at 8:20 in the morning my computer hasn’t fully booted up yet.

Typically, the old ladies who “hang out” at or near the bus stop will say a small greeting and then continue to chat amongst themselves. But for some unknown reason, they swarmed me this morning. I don’t know if it was the colour of my shirt, the alignment of the planets, or if they just had too many cups of coffee with breakfast, but they wouldn’t let up with the rapid-fire Korean. They had every tactical advantage over me. I was outnumbered, outflanked, and hugely outgunned (I didn’t even have my phrasebook with me). I desperately tried to explain that I didn’t understand what they were saying, but they ignored me.

A bus pulled up, so I immediately said my goodbyes and got on.

I pulled out my phone, busied myself with deleting spam messages (yes, in Korea there are tones of spam texts), when out of the corner of my eye I saw a familiar building: Bunam Middle School. Today, I was supposed to be heading to Gucheon Middle School.

Ah crap.

By the time I stood up and walked to the front of the bus, we were already ascending into the mountains (going back towards Andeok). I tried to explain to the bus driver that I had gotten on the wrong bus, but he just kept staring straight ahead. I pulled out my ticket to Gucheon, handed it to him, and he immediately applied the breaks. He turned to face me, blasted me in Korean, and opened the door. I thought to myself, “You’ve got to be kidding. We’re in the mountains, and you want me to walk?”

I didn’t have a choice.

I got off the bus and pulled out my cellphone to call Mrs. Jeon. I didn’t have a signal. It was going to be a long morning…

Luckily, barely five minutes into my walk, a car honked and pulled over. The window opened and I saw the friendly face of one of the Bunam administrators. She beckoned me to jump in, and I happily obliged.

The entire trip back to the bus station was spent explaining to her how I got there. The conversation went a little something like this:

Administrator: “Why you are walking from Andeok?”

Me: “I wasn’t. I got on the wrong bus and the bus driver left me in the mountains.”

Administrator: “You must be tired yes?”

Me: “No. I only walked 5 minutes.”

Administrator: … Confused look on her face …. “Andeok is very far.”

Me: “I didn’t walk from Andeok. I got on the wrong bus at Bunam.”

Administrator: “Why you no take bus?”

Me (realizing I had to simplify the situation, I lowered my English level, mimed out the scenerio, and added extra long pauses): “Today…Bus Andeok to Bunam…Good… Bunam station…Bus Bunam to Andeok…Bad…Bus driver open door…I walk.”

Administrator (nodding her head in understanding): “Ahhhh yes. But why you are walking from Andeok?”

Sigh.

You can’t say I didn’t try.

- Ken

Sprained Ankle

Yesterday, I was in the bedroom, changing my clothes, when Ken came home. I immediately jumped up from the bed to see him and tripped on one of my pant legs. (Remember the “Spaghetti Incident”...Yes, I am that clumsy). I was so excited to see him, that the energy from my fall was enough to sprain my ankle. When I told Ken what had happened, he just laughed. I guess that spurred my ‘I’ll show you!’ attitude. Overcoming the pain, I decided to continue with my evening duties…writing blogs, updating my computer, and cleaning.

***

The next day, I realized that the pain had gotten worse. I could slowly hobble around the house, but teaching that day would be excruciating. I would have to walk at a snail-pace to get ANYWHERE at all. As I was leaving the house and walking down the driveway, I bowed to the people passing-by, one of whom, was this old ajumma. She had many questions for me and was too stubborn to listen to me say in Korean, “I really need to catch the bus to get to Hyeonseo School.”

She responded, “But the school is just around your house. You don’t need to walk this way.” Of course, she was referring to Andeok School.

Luckily, for the five minutes I had to talk to her, I had a little relief, because she was walking at a turtle-pace while pushing an empty shopping cart. She asked more questions… “Are you living alone? You shouldn’t live alone.”

“No, I’m living with my nam-pyun (Ken).”

“You shouldn’t live alone.”

Geez…. I kept on saying, “I’m sorry, but I really need to go catch the bus.”

She finally let me go, and I had to run – yes run – on my sprained ankle. It’s funny, because I saw the bus slowly cross the end of the street (which made me run faster), and I waved my arms frantically, hoping the driver would see me in the mirror. He did (whew!), waited for me, and I boarded the bus.

I hobbled to Hyeonseo school which took me 3 times as long as usual, but thanks to my Korean blood, I made it. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger…am I right?

Oh dear.

- Jess

Welcoming Dinner from Bunam Middle School

It was 5:30PM, my last class had just ended, and I was preparing to go home.

On most days, Mrs. Jeon packs up, comes over to my desk, waits for me to pack, then drives me to the bus station. But today, she walked over to my desk and promptly advised me that we were going to a restaurant for my “welcoming party.” So much for advanced notice…

I called Jess to let her know that I wasn’t coming home for dinner and to invite her to join us (all of the teachers were begging me to persuade her to come). She said yes, and 30 minutes later showed up at the school ready for show-and-tell (she was the main event of the night).

There were two main differences between my first welcoming dinner (with Gucheon Middle School teachers) and this one:

First: I knew what to expect. This dinner was no less of an escapade than the last one, but this time I was mentally prepared.

Second: I had a side-kick. Actually, let me re-phrase that. Jess was the focus of conversation, and I was the side-kick. This allowed me to focus more on eating, drinking, and the occasional conversation. Jess, thank you thank you thank you!

The night went extremely well with lots of drinks, laughter, and of course, copious amounts of flirting (directed mostly at Jess, but I did get a few side remarks from some of the male teachers).

Once all of the bottles were empty, we said our good-byes and caught the last bus from Bunam station towards home.

Back in Andeok, we walked over to the ticket counter to buy bus tickets for the week. We looked through the window and saw the salesman and his family sitting in a circle on the living room floor eating dinner (we felt really bad for interrupting them). They talked with us for a few minutes (mostly about where we were from and why we were in Andeok) before handing us our bus tickets and a bag of… Yup, you guessed it… Apples.

- Ken

Afterhours in Pohang

Trip to Pohang

The OTHER Andeok English Teacher

Ever since the first week I started teaching, I’ve been asked the same question, time and time again by all of my Andeok co-workers. “Have you seen Casey?”

“Casey?” I would always question.

“Yes, Casey.” They would answer back. “He teachers over at Andeok Elementary School.”

I didn’t even know that Andeok had an elementary school. So after hearing the startling news that there was more to see in Andeok, Ken and I took a walk through the 50-meter vicinity of Myungdang-ri that we hadn’t yet explored. Much to our surprise, just east of our home stood Andeok Elementary, identical to the appearance of the Middle and High School.

You know how in movies, you commonly see two people just missing each other on the street – that’s how I felt about Casey.

Many of the Andeok teachers had apparently seen him walking around, and were very surprised that I hadn’t seen him once. I was surprised too. But then it happened.

I went to the post office to deliver a letter. It seemed like another simple, beautiful day. I was walking back home…and then I saw him. A Westerner! He was casually walking out of the local convenience store, happily eating an ice cream. I knew that there were only a few possibilities as to who he was. I headed straight for him. I walked faster and faster, not wanting to miss him. I was so close…just ten meters ahead of him…

…and then he veered diagonally off-course, across the street. Duh. Of course. I must’ve looked like just another Korean…probably a little bit like a stalker too.

I shouted, “Casey? From Andeok Elementary?”

He looked confused. “Yes?”

I explained to him that I was the new English teacher over at Andeok Middle and High School, and he immediately said, “Oh, I heard about you..”

As we caught up on our experiences in Andeok, I learned that Casey had been in Andeok for seven months up until this moment. The past Native English teacher had moved on from our cozy little haven, to a more populated area. As we were talking, one of Casey’s students – just the cutest little girl (set up in high pigtails, with chubby cheeks and a look of deep curiosity) – rode up in her bicycle and asked me, “Ajumma (I don’t think I’m that old), why are you talking to the English teacher?”

My reply, “Because I’m an English teacher, too.” just made her tilt her head.

So there it was. After three long weeks of complete curiosity and no action, I met Casey at one of the most random moments in time. That’s what Andeok is all about – waiting for (intentionally, of course) and appreciating those random moments.

- Jess

The Spaghetti Incident

I had about fifteen seconds to gather all of my energy and stand up on my feet. I could see the bus rolling to a stop ahead of me, and I knew that it would cruise by me if I didn’t wave it down. Hopefully the driver would have enough sense not to steamroll over me.

Here’s how it all happened.

After finishing up my classes in Hyeonseo, I decided to go to the only convenience store within thirty minutes of the area that sold more than rice, chili pepper paste, and sesame oil. I had a good thirty-five minutes until the bus arrived, so I thought time was on my side.

Never mind the time I took to verbally tease this absolutely cutesy dog, or the time I spent talking with the woman who was unfathomably curious about me.

At the convenience store (called a ma-teu or mart), I scanned the aisles for something out of the ordinary. Jajangmyun, Korean curry, red chili pepper paste… and then I saw it. Gloriously stacked on the bottom of one of the shelves was a row of thick, velvety, spaghetti sauce.

I grabbed it right away and was en route towards the cash register, snatching up vegetables along the way. I couldn’t wait to show Ken. It’d been a while since we had had anything other than Korean food. I glanced at my watch – one minute. Oh my gosh, I had been so excited about the spaghetti sauce that I forgot about the time. I ended up running out of the store in the direction of the bus stop.

It was a beautiful day outside, and yet, I didn’t have enough grace to keep myself from tripping over my feet. Half-inch heels…that’s all it took…and some uneven pavement. I dove chest first into the ground, skidding on my knees, and finally bracing myself with my hands. It was quite I sight (I think). I painfully rolled over onto my back and rested on the dusty, left-hand side of the street. The sun burned my eyes, and I tried to cover them. At once, I smelled the stimulating odours of pepper, herbs, garlic and onion. The glass bottle containing the rich sauce had smashed against the ground, torn through the fragile black grocery bag, and left me dressed in much more than my normal school attire. I could feel a burning sensation on my hands, but also my knees. I looked down to see that the rough pavement had shredded my pants, my knees, and had doused them in the pungent, garlicy sauce.

It looked like I was bleeding out bits of garlic and onion. The thick sauce smelled strongly of the two, and it was all over me, in my cuts, my shredded pants, and all over the street.

Everyone stared for a good long minute. My incident was probably the highlight of their day, so they decided to take a mental video - no one helped.

BEEP BEEP.

I lifted my chin. Still laying, stupefied and helpless on my back, I saw the front of the bus. It was coming my way, and getting clearer and clearer within my sight. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no…

I didn’t want to have to wait another hour looking like I had been ransacked and smelling like decomposing tomatoes, so I called-up my Korean super strength and slowly got up. I limped towards the bus and waved my arms (slowly) up and down in an attempt to catch the eye of the bus driver. I must’ve looked like a deranged bird, with my frizzled hair, torn book bag, and bleeding grocery bag. He pulled up to where I was on the road, and merely stared at me for a few seconds. Then, he asked, “You okay?”

I huffed, and sighed, “Yes…” I was just relieved to have caught the bus. I sat down in the farthest seat back as possible (to be courteous to other passengers), and started to wipe myself off with my small packet of white Kleenexes.

Ah well… It’s just another day living in Korea…

- Jess

Bus Tickets and Gifts

For the first couple of weeks, my co-teachers were really helpful with the purchasing of bus tickets. They even showed me where to stand, occasionally waited with me until the bus arrived, and showed me how to read the directional city names displayed on front of the buses. But lately, I’ve insisted that they don’t wait with me (they are incredibly busy), and that they let me buy my own tickets.

Today, I walked over to the ticket counter, alone, and asked for 10 tickets to Andeok. The lady smiled at me, nodded in understanding, and began counting them out. I then asked how much it was, and before she could write it down, I pulled out my wallet and handed her the exact change. She just stared at me, smiled even wider, and beckoned me to sit down on the bench and wait. She disappeared into the ticket building (which I assume is her house), and returned a few minutes later with a bag. Before I could say anything, she opened it up and placed it on my lap. It was filled to the top with apples and yams. I thanked her repeatedly, boarded the bus, and brought the fruits of my labour home.

- Ken

Our Banana Bread Escapade

NO OVEN IN OUR HOUSE??? The news was so ghastly...so horrendous…that I almost headed straight back to Canada…

***

Of course, being the avid baker that I am, I thought that having no oven here in Korea was going to undo me – seriously finish me. In our beloved little region (by that I mean a district with a radius of a 30-minute bus ride), there wasn’t even one bakery where I could even purchase any precious buns of sweet bread, cheese croissants, or palatable baked goods. I couldn’t imagine not being able to bake my delectable raspberry coffee cheesecake, perfect Anna Olson chocolate chip cookies, or three-tier Swiss chocolate-drenched fudge cake.

Obviously, Ken came to my rescue. He was able to find me a release using a recipe that we could bake in the microwave…and so our banana bread frenzy began.

For all of our schools, we were able to bake the most perfect banana bread you could ever imagine. We quickly produced five rich, fragrant caramel-coloured loaves – one for each of our cherished schools (our kitchen had the most delicious, ambrosial smell). What a hit. Every teacher from each of our schools gave us looks of awe (they had never heard of baking in the microwave!), and we were swamped with questions about the recipe for our savoury golden piece of heaven. Thank-goodness we had baked more than five loaves in the span of a week!

Our famous banana bread is now our gift of choice. We have already given some to our friendly bus ticket salesman and our landlord… we should probably make some for the convenience store owners (who helped Ken with the baking powder incident), the local bank employees (who helped us with a ridiculous situation lasting an hour and a half), and every single person who has ever given us apples.... Actually, I don’t think I will ever have the stamina to bake that many loaves.

I’m lying of course. I do have the energy. As I said, I’m a baker. But I’m not to be blamed if half of what I bake somehow ends up in my satiated belly.

- Jess

Kuncussion Kid

My walks home from the bus stop never cease to amuse me.

Today, I almost killed a kid.

I was walking down the main street towards home when I spotted a kid on a bike speeding towards me. When he was about twenty feet away, I gave him a quick bow and a “hello!” His eyes immediately sprung open wide, and he violently shot his head down with an unnecessarily powerful bow. He smashed his forehead on the little bell between his handlebars, producing an odd yet somewhat amusing synchronized “WAAAABAM” and “DING” sound. He swerved violently left and right in series of fiercely uncontrolled movements, and jetted towards the open doorway of a shop. At the last second, he swerved back onto the road, and with tears in his eyes, sped past me. I turned to watch him bike away, and he yelled out, “I’m fine thank you and you!”

That’s the last time I’ll ever bow to a kid on a bike.

- Ken

Mystery English Teacher at Gucheon Elementary School

I’m not alone in this town!

My co-teacher told me today that another English teacher teaches at the elementary school next to my middle school on Tuesdays and Thursdays (I teach on Wednesdays and Fridays). In a remote area such as this, news of another foreigner is HUGE! I have no idea who he/she is, but I think I’m going to sneak over to the English room in the elementary school to leave a note on his/her desk…

- Ken

Sunday Service

It was a magnificent Sunday morning. The sun’s rays were beaming through our frosted windows, welcoming us to another day in Andeok. Ken and I planned this exquisite day to do our daily chores: laundry, vacuuming, and planning our lessons for the coming week.

Ken was talking with his family on Skype and I was typing my lesson plans, when I heard him yelp. Aunt Kimchi, our captivating landlord, was staring right at us, through our sun room’s glass windows. She had a bright smile on her face and waved me over to the front door of our house. I put on an equally cheery smile and walked outside.

She asked the usual questions, “How are you? Have you had breakfast? Are there any problems with the house? What are you doing today?"

Our landlord thought that we would be bored - staying in the house all day, with nothing to do. Even though I tried to explain to her, many times, that we had plenty to do, that this day was reserved for our many chores, she wouldn’t listen.

“Come to the church. There are many people who want to meet you English teachers.”

“Oh, I see.” I replied, dryly. I could see a problem slowly emerging… I tried to clarify again, “I’m sorry, but we’ve reserved this day for our chores. We have much work to do on our computers, and this is the prime time to talk with both our families.”

“Oh, you mean on the phone? Internet chatting?” she questioned.

“Not really… It’s more than that.” I tried to make things clear. “We don’t get to speak with our families very often, and this is the best time for everyone to get in touch.”

“But if you’re phoning your families, it must only take about fifteen minutes to talk to them,” said Aunt Kimchi.

For ten minutes, I tried to explain the situation to her, but when it finally came down to it, she beat me with, “The entire community is going to be at the service, and I told them that you were coming today. They’ll be sooo disappointed if you don’t go. I’ll wait for you. The service starts at 11:00am.” I checked the time. It was 10:00am.

If the entire town was going to be there, I figured that both Ken and I had to go. I feared that if we refused, we would be shunned for one year by everyone we had just met in the past couple of weeks.

So, I walked back into the house, and gravely looked at Ken.

“We’re going to church,” I stated.

“Oh no we’re not,” he protested.

“The entire town is going to be there, and they’re waiting for us. Aunt Kimchi already told them that we going. I can’t do anything about that.”

So for forty-five hectic minutes, Ken and I took our showers, quickly ate, and prepared ourselves for the unknown.

At 10:50am, Aunt Kimchi came knocking on our door and led us to her church (which was across our rice field). We immediately caught the attention of everyone outside the distinctly marked building. We were presented to the pastor outside of the church, and were then shuffled inside.

Other than the group of singers standing at the front of the white curtain-laden hall, we could see no one else even remotely close to our age. It was as if every member of the retirement home had decided to change venues for the day.

The entire eleven o’clock service was in Korean, but I couldn’t understand it. I managed to translate some words for Ken, but I was pretty much as lost in translation as he was. For an hour and a half, we sat through the service, looking around at the Korean Bibles before us, the retired community spread out around us, and at the streams of sun, peering through the cracks between the curtains. There was even a photographer who was taking photos of us randomly throughout the entire service. Towards the end, the pastor called out our names (the first bit of the service we had understood) and told us he would buy us Bibles and English hymn books for the next week. It looked like we were suddenly being committed to attend every Sunday.

After the announcements were over, Aunt Kimchi led us to the small room connected to the church. There, we ate lunch – kalgooksoo (noodles in broth) and kimchi – and were greeted by a young couple who knew a little English. For half an hour, we made conversation and ate our appetizing meal.

As soon as we finished, we were brought outside by Aunt Kimchi. We were saying our goodbyes, when she replied, “So, we’ll see you again at 2:00pm?” I almost jumped back, startled.

“T-two?” I stuttered.

“Oh yes,” she said happily. “The service continues at two o’clock.”

I looked at Ken and we both wearily sighed (in our heads).

“Take a break,” she added. “Go home, rest, and come back.”

Ken and I both knew that if we weren’t there at 2:00pm, she would come and fetch us. So, we “rested” for an hour, and walked, jaded, back to the church.

The hour service mirrored the first one, with Ken and I sitting like mannequin being displayed in the church hall. After the service completed, we exited the building, and were held back by the photographer. Aunt Kimchi joyfully said, “They want to take your photos – portraits.” So we took glamour shots with each other, individually, and with Aunt Kimchi.

We once again, said our goodbyes, but the day-long event wasn’t over. Aunt Kimchi invited us back to her temporary home, which was next to the apple farm she owned. Once we were there, she treated us to apples and apple cider, and she and I had the best Korean conversation I had had since I arrived in Andeok. She said that I reminded her of her daughter in Daegu, and that we were to become very close, her and I…

As Ken and I were about to leave, Aunt Kimchi held us back for a few minutes. She stocked us with her very own kimchi, seaweed, fifty packets of apple cider, and Andeok rice (which might have come from a nearby rice field!).

After a day-long series of tiring events, Ken and I were pooped. We walked outside and for a brief moment, enjoyed the sunset enveloping the apple orchards with its crimson-yellow glow. Before we reached the road, Aunt Kimchi called out to us, “See you next Sunday!”

Oh boy.

- Jess

Andeok (Home Sweet Home)

Everyday Living in Andeok

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!

***

Good morning, sweet Andeok. Your shrill rooster crows and deafening tractor drive-bys are the perfect combination to wake us up at six o’clock in the morning. Who needs ten shots of impeccable, soothing Maxim coffee, when we can get an equivalent rush from your rural wake-up call?

Myungdang-ri, Andeok, really is a fascinating and beautiful place. The quiet, serene environment is really what allows me to listen to the crickets singing in the sheer ebony blanket of the night. The vast openness of the blushing apple orchards and feathery

rice fields allow me to smell the seasonal deliveries of juicy, sugary perfumes and sweet starches. Just as gratifying, if not more, I am lulled to a satisfying slumber by the wind caressing the date trees and sesame leaves in front of the house.

Where else can I cross the distance of a town, in the span of four minutes? Where else can I find a local marketplace, bustling with four times the town’s usual population? Where else can I recognize every charming individual, every single day? In Myungdang-ri, Ken and I are treated like immediate family, and it’s more than we could ever ask for.

I can usually spot some of my cheeky, blushing students from Andeok School, waiving frantically from inside the convenience store as I walk past. I can strike up a Konglish (a mix of Korean and English) conversation with some of my bubbling students, as I wait for the Hyenseo or Hyendong bus to arrive or depart from Andeok. I can see groups of my students, walking through the streets late at night – their young, hyper voices echoing through the empty streets.

The closeness I feel with everyone around me and the comfort and safety I feel as I saunter through the dimly lit streets, leaves me wishing for nothing more, than to bask in Andeok’s comfortable ambiance, for three-hundred and fifty-two more satisfying days.

- Jess

Baking Powdah Kids

I was walking home from the bus stop, and I spotted a group of kids in the distance. As I approached, they slowed down, grabbed onto each others arms, and began giggling. I turned to face them, gave a little bow, and said, “Hello!” That just about killed them. They erupted in laughter, and a few of them broke away from the pack to hide behind a wall. The brave one in the front returned the bow, and said, “Hello! Hi you baking powdah!” I immediately recognized her as the one who ran from one store to the next in search of my baking powder. I laughed, waved, and they ran off screaming, “Hi baking powdah!!!”

I guess I just earned myself a new name.

Well, it could be worse. I could’ve been searching for yeast…

- Ken

The Chicken Man and His Canine Companion

“Jess. Jess!” You’ve got to come with me, right now!”

I thought, “Whatever Ken’s experiencing it has got to be important.” Ken took my hand and we sped-walked out of our home, down the side street, towards the downtown area.

“Jess, I need you to translate something for me.”

“Okay…what is it?”

As we turned the corner of the street, there it was. About sixty boggled eyes were staring at both Ken and I. Their sixty feet were grasping onto the thin metal bars of their deteriorating cages.

“Chickens?”

“Yes, Jess. Chickens. Can you please ask the man what he is doing with them.”

I sighed. There was a man standing on the back of his truck, with a large carving knife, cleaning off the tainted lily-white feathers of a lifeless chicken. I asked the man, curiously, “Sir, excuse me. Are you selling those chickens?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied in Korean. “I drive from town to town, selling them. I kill, clean, and cut them. Then you buy. Three for ten-thousand won ($10).”

“Ten thousand won?” I was surprised. What a bargain (something to look forward to for supper).

As Ken and I were about to leave, something caught our attention. In one of the rust-ridden cages was one of the cutest dogs I had ever seen. His perfect fluffy head was beautiful amidst the backdrop of the sporadic head movements of the chickens. His spotless curly-haired coat was gleaming against the dirt-stained feathers of the clucking birds. He was so happy to see both Ken and I, and he pressed his button-black nose and stuffed-animal like paw against his confines.

I had to ask the man, “Sir…are you selling that dog for eeeeating purposes?” I almost choked on those words. I had mental images going through my mind of the dog…the butcher’s knife…ugh.

“Of course not,” he replied, laughing. Don’t worry, I’m selling it as a pet. A pet. Oh you Westerners.”

Relieved, Ken and I dollied back to the side of the truck.

“Bye bye, doggie. Oh, you’re too cute!” I couldn’t help but almost put my finger between those cage bars. Ken instinctively took my hand. “Oh alright. Bye, dog.”

And chickens? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll see you soon…very soon (muah ha ha).

- Jess

Everybody Poops...

*Warning: The following entry may be disturbing to some people.

Just remember: everybody poops. The only difference is that in some countries it’s a little trickier to accomplish.

…

Where should I begin for this entry? Once upon a time… It was a bright and beautiful day… There once was a man from Canada…

I’ll just lay it all out for you, sparing the unnecessary graphic details.

My routine is usually like clockwork. No unexpected surprises, no worries. But for about a month now I’ve had some pretty bad stomach aches, and my schedule has been slightly off. I was told that the dramatic diet change could induce stomach aches for up to a month, so I stocked up on meds and tried my best to limit diet extremes (such as a full meal of insanely spicy food, things that are still wiggling, and anything called a “Korean delicacy”). Up until today, I’ve been able to save my bathroom sessions for when I am safely at home.

Time: 11:00AM

Status: Urgent.

I opened my laptop case and pulled out a pack of bathroom tissues (bathrooms in Korea rarely have any available, so they must be carried with you at all times). I walked to the bathroom, opened the stall, and to my horror found an oval shaped porcelain hole in the floor. At first I stood and stared at it, thinking that it kind of looked like a western toilet that a steam roller had run over. But my amusement didn’t last long. I had to go. Now. But the important question was: how?

This may seem like a pretty stupid question, but it really didn’t have an obvious answer. They didn’t have diagrams on the walls, I’m pretty sure the details weren’t given in any Lonely Planet books, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to go and ask one of the teachers. I was on my own for this one.

First problem: Which way do you face? The squatter is a symmetrical oval shape on the floor with a little “lip” on one side. I assumed (correctly) that I had to face the lip.

Second problem: How the hell are you supposed to squat properly? In reality, everyone should be able to squat, but doing it properly is something entirely different. Go ahead and try it at home. Take off your pants, squat, and observe where everything would naturally go. I guarantee you, 98% of it would hit material that you wouldn’t want it to hit. I solved this problem by using my left hand to pull everything forward to clear the way.

Third Problem: How the hell do you balance? I tried leaning forward (which was the correct thing to do), but without side railings, this balancing act seemed nearly impossible. And I knew no matter what, falling wasn’t an option…

Fourth Problem: Anxiety. I never anticipated this one, but the squatter doors are all open at the bottom. This means that anyone and everyone who walks by can see you doing your business. In some countries, there are no doors at all (everyone “squats n’ talks” to the people around them), so I was at least grateful for the limited privacy.

Fifth Problem: Wiping. I won’t go into any details on this one, but I’m sure you can imagine the difficulties I went through. One thing I will mention is that in Korea, toilet paper doesn’t go in the toilet. You wipe, fold, and then drop into the garbage. I later found out that on a daily basis, a little kid (I don’t know how he/she is chosen) goes into the bathroom with huge gloves and salad tongs to empty the bins into a single garbage bag. It’s not exactly the most prestigious job in the school, but someone has to do it…

Sixth Problem: Leg lock. The squatting position was painful and hugely uncomfortable for my legs, but once I was down, the problem quickly changed to how to get back up. Try squatting for a few minutes until the muscles in your legs relax, then try and get back up without using your hands or moving your feet (you have a giant hole on the ground, so movement is limited). It’s not an easy task.

Well, I went home that day feeling great about myself. I had conquered the squatter.

- Ken

Welcoming Dinner with Andeok Teachers

You and I are partners. No, no. Closer. We are companions?

***

I had just arrived back to Andeok on the bus from Hyeonseo School, and I had mentally prepared myself for what was about to come.

The Andeok teachers had prepared a welcoming party for me and the new principal of the school (principals have to change schools every few years and usually don’t have a choice in the matter), and as Young-hee (my Andeok co-teacher) put it bluntly, “There will be a lot of soju involved…for you.”

With those words, I waited. I sat outside in the courtyard of the school, admiring the flourishing green canopy above me, and striking up conversations about the latest breaking news in Andeok.

Ten minutes later, Young-hee briskly walked out of the school’s glass doors and motioned me to follow after her.

“Ready?” She called back.

“Uh…huh…” I shakily replied.

We drove about thirty seconds (the restaurant was in Andeok) and we were there. Stepping onto the familiar wood-patterned mat, glued to the ground, both Young-hee and I entered the largest room, and greeted the teachers who had already arrived. On the left side of the room, I saw him. Normally, I saw and respected the principal like a retired military training officer (which he actually was), but there he was, on my left, sitting as humbly as any monk would. His perfect, impeccably-pressed suit was exchanged for a windbreaker and casual pants.

Young-hee and I were about to sit down with the rest of the ladies, when we heard the principal speak (in Korean, of course).

“Na teacher. Have her sit beside me,” requested the principal.

I had no choice but to sit beside the Alpha One. I actually had no problem doing it, but as I meekly sat down, I could see all of the female teachers’ eyes on me.

Young-hee sat down beside me. “I’m not letting you go through this alone,” she said.

I nodded. I really didn’t have a problem with what should have been a terrifying experience (according to the female teachers).

So, the evening began. The rainbow of side dishes came out first, along with many, many bottles of soju and beer…(I wish I had had more to eat for lunch). As soon as I put the first piece of mushroom in my mouth, a shot glass slowly inched its way towards me. The principal looked at me with eyes that belonged to a newfound friend, and he merrily said, “You and I are partners. No, no. Closer. We are companions? You. Me. New. We have connection.”

“Yes. Yes we do,” I said with a smile. Now I was best friends with the principal. He slowly poured me the colourless liquid of death, while I graciously accepted with two hands on my glass. I wanted to slowly sip on my drink (like most ladies do), so I put it down on the crowded table and picked up the green bottle of soju to pour him a shot as well. He grabbed it from me.

“No, no, no.” he said. “You have to finish your soju first. Then, pour me a drink in the same shot glass,” he instructed.

Fantastic.

So I embraced all of the drinking skills I had learned in Montreal, opened my gullet, and tried not to choke. I managed to smile as the soju was burning its way down my throat. I took the soju bottle, poured my companion a drink, and we were about three shots in (each), when the samgyeopsal (Korean bacon) arrived. It was at that time, I got chummy with the vice principal and other male teachers. They joked first about me being a gyopo (second generation Korean-Westerner), and then made it their mission to raise enough money to visit Canada in ten years.

As the evening went on, I managed to eat as much as I could to soak up all of the soju I was receiving from the teachers (about a half a shot per teacher). They were thoroughly impressed with how much soju I could drink, so they made it a competition to get me as wasted as I could possibly get. There were about twenty teachers and five admin, so I had well over a bottle and a half of soju that evening. As soon as we had emptied every side dish, rice bowl and barbecue pan (for the samgyeopsal), everyone decided to call it a night. Good thing too. My vision was blurry, my depth perception was off, but I managed to stay composed enough to receive ‘wows’ and ‘nice one!’ from my co-workers as we walked out of the restaurant.

I was about to head home, when the young female Andeok teachers called me over to their circle. They were about to walk to the mart to get some ice cream and wanted me to come with them. In their buzzed state, they reminded me of schoolgirls, gossiping to one another, fussing over which ice cream they should get. I loved it. What a fresh new atmosphere from the formal ambiance of the busy workplace.

With our ice creams, we sauntered toward the direction of my home and the teachers’ dorm. Giggling and discussing some serious and girly topics, they asked me my opinion on everything girly they could think of – from Ken to issues facing Korean women today.

Completely satisfied, we reached our separating streets, exchanged hugs, said our goodbyes, and retreated for the night, ready to take on the next day at Andeok Middle and High School.

- Jess

Our Landlord, the Apples, and the Ant Highway…

It was like telepathy. We stared at the woman sitting across from us, the ajumma with blinking eyes and a bright smile…

***

Ken and I were both happily eating our supper last evening, when we heard a knock at our door. We both suspected that we were being too noisy. We didn’t think any of the Myungdang-ri residents were awake at this hour (7:30pm), but we thought that the sound from our movie (playing from our wee USB speakers) drifted across our rice field into some of the neighbouring houses.

So I prepared myself. As I was walking towards the front door, I rehearsed my speech. I’m sorry, we’re new here. We’ll keep it down. Do you want an apple?

I opened the door. Standing outside in the lamplight was an old ajumma, smiling with such intent. Beside her – a very handsome Korean man, towering over six feet tall, with a kind of shyness about him. Before I could even say, “An nyoung hasaeyo” the ajumma stepped into our home, with her male companion, slowly creeping in behind her.

As I offered her a chair, still confused, she shook her head, helped herself to our floor, and invited us to join her. I sharply turned my head to look at Ken and mouthed shirt. He was still in shock, sitting at our dining table (half-naked), with the movie still playing, and his food getting cold in front of him. He cleverly stood up, and with cunning movement, slid his arms into his shirt sleeves and buttoned up while sitting down.

For many, many excruciatingly awkward seconds, no one said anything. The ajumma merely smiled and turned her head back and forth, between me and Ken.

After about a minute of stillness and noiselessness, the ajumma finally broke the silence – with rapid-fire Korean. Her Gyeongsangbuk-do Korean dialect was throwing me off, so I really couldn’t decipher what message she was trying to tell us. Glancing over at Ken, his eyes told me everything – Oh God, what in the world is happening…you’ve got to tell me something…anything.

Something switched on in my brain. Immediately, all of my inhibitions went away and 23 years of learning Korean passively came to the surface. I started speaking Korean the way I had learned it, and it worked. I started to tell her our story, where we were from, when we arrived in Andeok, what schools we were teaching in… She understood perfectly.

I found out that the man sitting next to her was her son (in his late twenties and unmarried, she told me) and that the two of them were apple farmers. She had decided to move-in with her son for one year to allow the new English teachers to have a home in Andeok (isn’t she so sweet?). The house in which Ken and I were living was actually the house that her son had bought for her – meaning that she was our LANDLORD. What a great first impression we had made.

Remember I mentioned that they were apple farmers? I hadn’t even noticed the vibrant yellow basket behind our landlord, but it immediately caught my attention as soon as pushed it towards me. Oh goodness – a full bushel of apples. It looked like there were about forty-five apples from what I could count…and they were all ours – both Ken and mine. She informed us that they had to be refrigerated. We didn’t know if we had enough room in the fridge to fit even three-quarters of the apples. So, we told her that we would do it after she left. She also gave us a bag of apple cider packets. The freshly pressed juice in each of them was pleasantly warming my hands.

Our landlord let herself up from her wooden seat and decided to see what we had changed in her house. She laughed as she commented, “You haven’t done a thing to it. Why? You don’t have enough space?” (as her voice echoed in our living room). As she double-checked our boiler, gas stove, washroom and kitchen, she asked, “Do you have any problems or questions for me?” (We decided to momentarily forget about the switch we found for the blue orgy living room lights). As we shook our heads, our landlord’s son was urging his mother to “leave us alone” as she hit his hand away. Finally, she gave in, and handed me her business card, decorated with apples, her name, and her phone number. She reminded us to put the apples in the refrigerator and kindly told us that she would be seeing us soon :S .

We still hadn’t recovered through that entire episode, and were exhausted from our initial shock. We were so tired, that we quickly finished our cold dinner, watched the rest of our movie, and retired to bed.

We forgot about the apples.

***

The next beautiful morning, Ken had to leave early for the bus to Gucheon School. I was lazily getting ready to go to Hyeonseo School – a bus ride for me as well. As I walked slowly towards the kitchen, I noticed something. I thought, “Hey… Why is there a black line on the floor from the bathroom to the kitchen?”

I honestly wish I didn’t have an innate sense for spotting bugs, but I can’t deny it. I do have one. And I wish I hadn’t seen what I had seen this morning. I really wish I hadn’t. I wished for my dear life that Ken was around, but he wasn’t. I couldn’t call him and ask him to take a bus ride back to Andeok…and I had to quickly get ready for my bus to Hyeonseo.

The dotted black line across the floor wasn’t some stupid prank Ken had drawn on our home’s floor. There was no logic to it (but I figured, hey, he’s a guy…maybe that’s just one of the things that guys do). The shifting dark line was a carefully and strategically planned trail of ants, leading from one corner of the bathroom door to the gift our landlord had given us. We hadn’t put the sugary apples in the fridge and now I was suffering the consequences.

For the first minute, I freaked out in my head. Then I composed myself, and planned my attack on the ants. Instinctually, I had grabbed our baking soda spray (that Ken had told me killed the ants very well) while I was panicking. Better not waste the spray I thought. So for half of the three hundred tiny soldiers that were marching their way back and forth, and around the basket of apples, I placed my thumb of death upon them, squishing their stupid little bodies with all of the energy that I could muster.

Next, I started to spray.

It should have been a sickening experience, but I put all of my personal feelings aside, and unleashed the power of baking soda on their scurrying bodies (they had started to panic when many of their companions had unexpectedly disappeared). I then focused on their point of origin – the corner of the bathroom door. I made a semicircular barrier around the bottom of the door’s frame and flooded their hole with the milky baking soda solution. The ants within the semicircular barrier were too disoriented to see their impending doom…the shadow from my thumb was growing bigger and bigger each second.

I had to catch the bus, and I was afraid the ants would return. So, I crazily opened both of our front doors, grabbed the basket full of apples, and dropped it outside, on our concrete front yard. I put it as far from the house as possible, making sure that the sunlight wouldn’t touch it.

***

When Ken came home after school, I knew what he about to ask…

“Jess…” he started.

“I know, I know,” I finished. “Why is the basket of apples in the middle of our front yard?” I sighed…and told him all about my morning adventure.

That evening, we spent hours happily peeling, dicing, and cooking down over forty apples (because they wouldn’t fit in our fridge).

***

Ken and I decided to give our gracious landlord a name – Aunt Kimchi (I’m sure you’ll be hearing plenty about her – very, very soon).

So thank-you, Aunt Kimchi, for our lovely house-warming gift. Thank-you for the apples, the ant highway, and yet another memorable installment in our Andeok adventures :).

- Jess

Welcoming Dinner from Gucheon Middle School

The teachers at Gucheon Middle School were anxious to leave school today. I could see them glancing at the clock every few minutes, and when 4:30 came around, they all stood up and beckoned me to follow. This is yet another example of a very common Korean belief: foreigners never have plans.

I still wasn’t feeling 100% yet, so my original plans for the night were to have a nice dinner with Jess, work on the blog, and watch a movie. But within the span of ten seconds it all changed; I was going to have dinner with them whether I wanted to or not.

We piled into two cars and drove off towards Bunam. One of the teachers was eager for me to try his favourite restaurant, but when we arrived, we found out that they didn’t have enough room for the ten of us. We left, walked down the street, and managed to find a bigger one (this one could hold twelve people!).

Within seconds of sitting down, the teachers proceeded to order copious amounts of meat and soju. Despite only having a sip of water before any alcohol was brought to the table, some of the teachers started acting considerably less sober. The volume increased, ties were loosened, and I was subjected to countless pats on the back as they “officially integrated” me onto their teaching staff. If this is what it was like before the soju, I couldn’t wait to see them after a few rounds.

They handed out shot-glasses and jumpstarted the night with a huge “weehayo!”

Down went the first drink.

It didn’t take very long to figure out that they each wanted to have a drink with me, so I apologized to my liver and dove headfirst into their slurry of hugs, Korean jokes that I didn’t understand, more drinks, tighter hugs, more jokes, butt grabbing (yup, one of the teachers grabbed my butt), even more drinks, and lots and lots of squeezing (my cheeks, arms, legs, or whatever else I didn’t guard with my life). After what seemed like an eternity of “integration”, the meat showed up.

They fired up the grills in the center of the tables, scraped huge pieces of lard over the whole surface, and grilled pounds and pounds of meat. Surprisingly, the dinner itself was rather quiet, but one quick look around explained everything; there was so much food packed into their mouths that no sounds could possibly escape! They shoveled, nay, they vacuumed every scrap of food in sight, and when one of the teachers did try and break the silence, his or her voice was preceded by a generous heap of pre-chewed dinner. Yummy...

The internet is packed with resources for Korean dining etiquette, but I thought I’d take a moment to clarify a few of them based on my personal experience:

Rule #1: Never pour your own drink. A Korean would rather leave his or her glass dry the entire night than pour his or her own drink.

Rule #2: After a few drinks, Rule #1 no longer applies.

Rule #3: Everything must be received with two hands (bowls, cups, drinks, money etc.).

Rule #4: After a few drinks, Rule #3 no longer applies.

Rule #5: Every Korean will try and teach you something. 

Rule #6: After a few drinks, you will be applauded for everything you have learned.

Rule #7: Don’t eat from your rice bowl with chopsticks. Always use your spoon.

Rule #8: After a few drinks, you will lose your spoon so you will have no choice.

Rule #9: Never touch food with your fingers.

Rule #10: After a few drinks, touch everything with your fingers.

Rule #11: Never slurp.

Rule #12: After a few drinks, always slurp.

Rule #13: Don’t talk about anything controversial.

Rule #14: After a few drinks, you will be asked your opinion on every controversial subject they can think of.

Rule #15: Keep personal comments to yourself.

Rule #16: After a few drinks, you will hear a lot of personal comments being thrown around (cheap, fat, skinny, ugly, old etc.) in “good fun”.

Rule #17: Racism and sexism are “faux-pas” at the dinner table.

Rule #18: After a few drinks, racism and sexism are hot topics at the dinner table.

Rule #19: Always chew with your mouth closed.

Rule #20: After a few drinks, show everyone what you are currently chewing, and if asked a question, kindly send a small parcel of your dinner into their rice bowl in mid-sentence.

Rule #21: All Korean food is good for you in some way.

Rule #22: Koreans love to act as nutritionists. All Korean food is good for you in some way, but no two Koreans will have the same “facts” about which tissue, organ, or disease it is good for.

Rule #23: Korean delicacies are the best in the world.

Rule #24: Stay away from Korean delicacies.

Rule #25: A full mouth makes for a happy host.

Rule #26: If even the tiniest bit of air can escape through your mouth while you are chewing, you will be questioned if you enjoy it or not.

Rule #27: If it can fit, it can be swallowed (that’s what she said).

Rule #28: If you know any First Aid whatsoever, turn off your “spidy-senses”. Everyone seems like they are on the verge of needing the Heimlich, so it’s better to just ignore it.

The night ended with a final “weehayo!”

…

We left the restaurant and said our goodbyes with far too many deep bows, sloppy handshakes, and pats on the back.

I was “officially integrated” onto their team…

- Ken