Post #16

Hello My Sane American Friends,

I want to begin with a quotation from my main man, poet Charles Bukowski:

"it's not the large things that
send a man to the
madhouse. death he's ready for, or
murder, incest, robbery, fire, flood...
no, it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to the
madhouse...

not the death of his love
but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left ... "

There's some truth to this, yes? In this blog, I spend quite a lot of time discussing the beauty and uniqueness of Korea. I try to put a positive spin on everything, but sometimes, things make me crazy out here. And I can deal with the wild cultural differences, the language barrier, the fact that I could scream obscenities in the street without anyone understanding (well without most people understanding) and all those things have not driven me to insanity. But the things that really make you go crazy in this country aren't the extremes - it's the little crap that really grinds my gears. Like Mr. Bukowski said, the broken shoelace drives us off the edge.

Maybe my biggest gripe is cup size. One thing you gotta love about America is when you go out to eat they slap down a big ass drink in front of you. Even if it's a complimentary water that a waitress isn't making a dime off of, she'll still bring out a cup that will quench your thirst for the majority of the meal without fail. The only exception to this rule I can think of is the dinky glass of orange juice they sometimes give at chintzy diners in America. But out here, I would kill for a glass that size.

I frequent a cafeteria where the food is exceptionally spicy. Now, I dig that, but only if I can smolder the red pepper fire in my mouth with a cool glass of, well, anything. But all they have is water, and all they have to drink from is these pathetic metal glasses that are maybe, maybe two inches tall. I get two and I've gulped them down before you can say "kim-chi." And this is not some isolated incident, no no. Nearly every restaurant in Gwangju will supply you with their feeble attempt at a cup. The "large" cola at Burger King is the equivalent to an American small that's been bogged down with way too much ice.

So why's this the case? It's strange but many Koreans aren't concerned with beverages during meals--they drink afterwards. The sole exception is of course beer, which they will serve you in a pint glass if you order individually. But even with beer, if you get a pitcher, they give you four ounce glasses to pour your beer into. No foolin'.

Elevators in Korea likewise drive me mad. The elevators themselves are fine. They're fast, efficient, clean. It's the social dynamic of getting onto an elevator that I do not understand no matter how many times I see play out. In America, I'd say you stand, say, four, maybe five feet back from the doors after pressing the button to call the elevator. The understanding is, of course, if there's anyone on the elevator, you let them off first (with the five feet of space) and then you enter.

Korea plays the elevator card differently. After pressing the button, your typical Korean will stand five feet back. But, as soon as it reaches their floor, he will shimmy up and press himself up against the elevator door like it was a life preserver. When the doors open, he will try to get into the elevator before the people already on try to get off. But the people getting off the elevator aren't having this, and will try to get off before the people who are off get on. Confusing? Basically everyone just wants on or off and refuses to wait. The result? It's this awkward shoving, rubbing dance everyone does to uncomfortably push themselves through the narrow opening and through the threshold. It's like people trying to get into Wal-Mart on Black Friday for the cheapest Christmas gifts. But the funny thing is, it takes just as long (maybe longer) as just letting the people off first. And that infuriates me to the point of no return.

And, for their third trick to drive you ape-poopy crazy, the Koreans have their heating systems. I would like to make the case that Koreans understand heating like Eskimos understand surfing (again, I'm not good with analogies). Needless to say, the heating out here sucks. At least for foreign teacher apartments. All of my friends share a similar problem: weak floor heating systems that are implemented in poorly insulated apartments. They really just don't work. You could leave it on for hours. Your apartment will be ice cold, but put your feet on the floor and you'll think they're melting. My friend goes to bed every night with her heat blasting and wearing a winter jacket. But if it was just at home, I could deal with it. After all, I'm a polar bear. I like sleeping in the cold.

But with office buildings and transportation, the heating decisions must have been made by a madman (or madwoman, for all you sexists). For instance, it's nice getting on a warm bus after waiting out in the cold for twenty minutes, but not if I start sweating the second I step foot on the bus. No kidding, I have to strip down to a T-shirt in my seat and I'm still uncomfortably warm. Unfortunately, Koreans don't allow me to go pantsless in public places, something I miss from the gold ole U S of A.

And then there's the public bathrooms. I think I deal with cold pretty well, but when I need to wear gloves and a scarf to go to the bathroom down the hall at my school because they're too cheap to heat it, I feel like they might be in the wrong. No one likes an icy toilet seat. It totally just detracts from the whole experience.

But before we get off the topic of bathrooms, I would like to discuss toilets, because I find the ones out here fascinating. Sure, you have your regular, run of the mill, white porcelain toilet, just like in America. But Korea is also home to the archaic and future toilets as well. There is the El Camino of toilets, which is the porcelain hole in the ground squatter variety that springs up in a surprising amount of public restrooms. Using such a device makes me wonder why we just don't go in the woods and do it. But that's not why I'm talking about it. I find it interesting because of the rich dichotomy that exists between the hole in the ground toilets and the yin to their yang, also found in Korea. We're talking about the Ferrari of toilets: the Super Toilet.

A toilet that you plug in? Oh baby, you gotta love that. This thing has heated seats, one of those French things that shoots water up your ass (both of the hot and cold variety), and an attachable Febreze Canister (out here pronounced :"pah-bree-suh"). The seat is comfortable as sin and it has a whole bunch of buttons I was afraid to touch. This thing is nicer than my first car. (Honestly though, I stopped playing with the buttons after the French thing scared the hell out of me. I was standing up, pressing the buttons, when a mechanic tube appeared inside the toilet bowl and starting spraying without mercy. I caught a stream of water to the chest, dove out of the way, and the bathroom ended up get soaked).

Long story short, it's just funny how two such toilets can exist in the same country. But I don't mean to complain. After all, I want this to be a happy blog, so here's some good stuff.

Going back to the small glass argument, the reason the Koreans have tiny four ounce beer glasses is for toasting purposes. "Gam-bay" is Korean for "cheers" and, man, do they like to cheers. Like, three or four times for the same four ounce glass that is refilled numerous times. Do the math, you're cheersing about once every ounce of beer. Such excessive cheersing results in everyone getting equally plastered, because everyone is forced to drink at the same time whenever anybody feels like drinking. What complicates it further is when soju is involved. Koreans have the same policy with their rice liquor - so when one guy at the table feels frisky and wants to do a shot - EVERYBODY DOES A SHOT. And then another. And another.

If you ever go drinking with Koreans, my advice is that you size them up first for drinking prowess. Or just make sure they're already sloshed, because they just don't ever stop with the soju. And man, soju can tare up your insides like a paper doll in a blender.

And speaking of food, this week's food discussion is on squid jerky. Did I say beef jerky? No. I said squid jerky. How do they make it? Based off what it looks like, I'd say they take a live squid, salt him up real good, and squeeze him into a panini machine til someone comes along with a hankering for some squid jerky. Dipping sauces include mayonnaise and soy sauce.

What does it taste like? Let me put it this way. It tastes exactly how you think it's going to. Yes, I know, that sounds terrible. And at first, it is. But honestly, after about six or seven of those little beer glasses, I kinda dig the rubbery, salty, fishy, soy-mayonnaisey flavor of processed, flattened squid. Just sayin is all.

And speaking of drinks, I recently attended an establishment called Ethnic Bar. With a name like that, I was convinced I would be thrown out upon entering for being a whitey. But, like most things in Korea with English names, the :"Ethnic" in "Ethnic Bar" was completely meaningless. Walking down a flight of stairs led to an interior that was completely out of place in Gwangju and borderline magical. What it looked more like was something out of the Ramayana, or Arabian Nights on LSD. It was a large dark room, low ceiling, lit by candles, with a long shallow pool of water in the middle, that people sat around on pillows. A gnarled tree twisted its way through the middle of the room, and on it, all sorts of strange, trippy trinkets and decorations. On the sides, ultra comfortable half-couches/half-beds with low coffee tables so you could lay back, smoke some hookah, and gulp down a cocktail or two while enjoying the ambiance. Looking through the drink menu, my choice of cocktail was the "Bourbon Cock," a name which pleased me to no end. Ethnic Bar, I give you two thumbs up. Excellent choice for a chill time, or a great date location. Tell your friends.

Speaking of dates, Valentine's Day in Korea is mostly the same with one wonderful twist: the girls have to give the guys candy and the guys don't have to do anything. I know. Awesome. But before you label me "misogynist," March 14th, the guys have to do buy flowers and candy for the girls. It's called White Day for some unknown reason And after that, April 14th, is known as Black Day. Who is that for? You guessed it, single people. The way I understand it, tradition is they go out to restaurants for soup, but are handed empty bowls, symbolizing the emptiness inside their hearts .Then they cry, until their tears fill up the bowls and then they have to drink the tear soup...or something like that. Maybe something was lost in the translation...

On a more serious note, I want to bring up the hagwon situation in Korea. A "hagwon" is an English Academy, like the one I work at, where children go to after school. But, to those of you not well versed in Korean culture, you don't understand the connotation this word carries. So let me tell you three things that you might not know about hagwons.

1. Shadiness - When you type "hagwon" into Google, the most commonly searched word after "hagwon" is "blacklist." The hagwon blacklist is a collection of hagwons that screwed over the foreigners who came out to teach at them. How? By not fulfilling their contract in some way, denying them medical insurance, or any plethora of money grubbing techniques. These are private institutions, so they can pretty much do whatever the hell they want.

For instance, one of my coworker's lease was up on his apartment. My bosses told him that he had a choice: to be moved into a new apartment close to the school or far from the school. So of course, he said he'd take the one closer. They promised to move him several times over the next two weeks, but it didn't happen. Then they informed him nothing would be open for a month. Instead, he was moved, after the two weeks, into my boss's apartment. I assure you he was thrilled. At the end of this tragic month, he was informed they couldn't afford him any more, that the school was going to be shut down, and his contract would be terminated in two weeks.

Yes that's right, my school would be shut down.

I have no idea if they are telling him the truth, as my bosses have told me nothing. But I also cannot say anything to my bosses, as they get standoffish and accuse you of prying them for information if you ask such things. These are people who on more than one occasion have fired teachers and hired them back in the same day.

Maybe that is shocking to you. Maybe not. As for me, am I worried? Nah. I'll figure it out. What brings me solace is that this situation is not unique to my hagwon, so there are things I can do to insure I'll be alright. But you might be asking yourself, "Dan, why do you put up with these bosses? Why not switch schools?" Two reasons: They've actually been pretty good to me, but more importantly, I love the kids. I don't want to leave them. And speaking of the kids....

2. Spoiled Kids - My kids are great, but that is not the case with all hagwons. Because at some other hagwons, the kids run the show. My bosses are at least good at making sure that doesn't happen. But a lot of my friends tell me that they're not allowed to kick kids out of class, even if they're acting foolish. Why? Money. Their parents are paying good money to send the kid there, and the bosses don't want to lose clientele. So, in some cases, hagwon teachers are nothing more than glorified baby sitters for spoiled brats. Fun fun.

3. Temporality - The last thing to know about hagwons is about the teachers. When you sign a year contract, that means just that. The hagwon pays for your flight there and your flight home. A lot of people are here for just that year. So by the time you get close to any foreigner teacher out in Korea, odds are pretty good that sometime real soon, either they're leaving or you're leaving. I've seen it happen before, and it happens again and again. We just celebrated a real good friend of mine's going away party last night. What kind of a guy was he? This was a guy who, at bars, would talk the waiters into letting him carry the drinks to to the private rooms full of girls. That was his way of infiltrating. Not five minutes later, he'd call out to me. Next thing I'd know we'd be sitting in a room of pretty girls, stealing their alcohol and telling them we were astronauts. Truly a good man, especially one with the last name "Fakhre." Yeah, it's pronounced exactly the way you want to say it. Go for it, say it. It's just a last name.

But that is the way it goes out here. Us westerners are merely dust in a kim-chi wind. We got a job to do, and then we ramble on. But I kind of dig it. Makes me feel like a cowboy out here. And hell, it's already almost half over. Boggles my mind how three weeks in felt like I'd been here a year, and six months in I feel like I've been here only three weeks.  

But not all things are sad. I went drinking with the mayor of a big Korean F-1 racing town the last two weekends. Friends of Mr. Fakhre and my Korean artist friend. Here's proof:

That's right, it says "The Mayor of a Town." And the dude looks like a cross between Mr. Sulu and Peter Gallagher. It's awesome.

But that's it for me. Nothing else to say, except I miss and love you all.

-The Korean Cowboy          

Post #15

Happy New Year?

That's right, party people, it's time for Sol-nal, the Korean Lunar New Year. What is Lunar New Year? I'm glad you asked.

Opposed to our fascist solar calender, Koreans use the moon as their guide for their traditional calender, so the time changes every year by about a day (lunar calender accounts for about a 354.37 day year). Sol-nal, the New Year, is among he most important Korean holidays. On this day, families gather together to pay homage to ancestors, offering them prayer and plates of food, while asking them for wisdom and luck in the new year. I think this is an excellent idea. After I'm dead and gone, I know I wouldn't mind stopping back on earth to see my family, give them some luck and advice, and maybe chow on some Anna's Taqueria. But this is truly a great holiday, one everyone loves. Adults love this holiday because it brings families together. Children love this holiday because they get money every time they wish their elders "happy new year." Dan Foley loves this holiday because of the five-day weekend. Oh yeah.

And how did I observe this moon-driven celebration? I spent Sol-nal with a couple of my Californian friends and their mentor and friend, a wise fifty-five-year-old Korean artist. You can tell he's a cool guy because he's the only Korean I know with facial hair. In his studio, we sat around playing poker and eating the traditional soup of Sol-nal called "Duk-guk." It's called rice cake soup, comprised of rice cakes, beef broth, scallions, and pretty much anything else you want to throw in. Our chef threw in a healthy amount of beef and oysters, and it was truly something special.

But the tradition behind the duk-guk soup is the best part. In a previous post I discussed how Koreans all age at the same time (i.e. at the start of 2011, everyone born in 1988 is 24, at the start of 2012 everyone born in 1988 is 25, etc. etc.), but, seeing as though Koreans use a lunar calender to establish age, January 1st is not the day when everyone turns one year older. Rather, it's done on Sol-nal. And, tradition states that you're not officially a year older until you eat the duk-guk soup. That's right, people, the key to eternal youth is avoiding this delicious beef broth concoction. But with respect to Bob Dylan, I pick the soup over being forever young. Honestly, it's that good.    

So, in honor of the new year, one of my resolutions is to watch more soccer. Now, knowing American audiences, half of you are groaning and saying "soccer sucks!" and the other half are cheering and saying "it's pronounced FUT-BOL." Both sides, just relax. Watching soccer out here is not a personal choice. Like every other non-American country in the world, out here, soccer is huge. So I gave it a shot and followed the Asian Cup, where Korea battled through to the semi-finals. There, they faced their arch-rival, Japan.

Now, if you think the Celtics-Lakers or Sox-Yankees rivalries are heated, just think about what it's like to be Korean. You're battling the nation that, until 65 years ago, had a ruthless imperialistic stranglehold on your nation. When you become enlightened to such facts, shirts that say "Jeter Sucks" just don't really carry the same gravity. There truly is no love loss between these two Asian nations. The game was a testament to this. It was wild. Korea scored early, and maintained their advantage for a fair amount of the first half until Japan tied it up. There, they remained deadlocked until the game went into overtime. Japan scored right off the bat, leaving Korea in a dire position. Korea battled back but couldn't get a good shot on goal until a minute left, where they managed to sneak one past the Japanese. But, in the penalty kick showdown, Korea was decimated by a more experienced Japanese team, and lost. It was doubly sad, both losing to Japan and the seeing the final game for Korea's pride and joy, Park Ji Sung, who will retire at the end of this year. He is best known for his prowess as Manchester United's midfielder and as the spokesman for Gillette Fusion Razors in Korea (which is powerfully ironic because no one out here has facial hair).

But enough about soccer, I have a much more serious announcement to make. My name is Dan Foley, and I'm addicted to Korean junk food. Everyone knows I love food like Michael Bay loves explosions, but I'm not usually a snacker. I dig the entrees. But out here, these delicious treats are slowly converting me. Candy out here is dirt cheap, delicious, and confusing, making it the ultimate seduction. And when I say confusing, just like everything else in Korea, none of the candy really makes a whole lot of sense. Everything is almost normal, but with a strange twist. For instance, Sour Gummy Coke Bottles. Say what? Yeah, I know. You can picture maybe Gummy Coke Bottles, or Sour Gummies, but really, Sour Gummy Coke Bottles? Confusing? Yes. But they're blue and purple and strangely addictive so they get the pass.

Then you have your ice cream popsicles/bars, which seem to be my Achilles heel. I can't resist them. You have deep fried frozen ice cream puffs and ice cream mixed with corn (I'm terrified to try, but it's sitting in my freezer right now), but perhaps the most interesting is the Jaws Bar. It's an ordinary popsicle, blueberry flavor on the outside, and shaped like a shark. But, the inside is this pink, strawberry deliciousness that is somehow soft and just the right amount of bitter. The bizarre thing is, when you eat it, it really feels like you're gutting a shark, seeing the cross section of the blue and pink as you work your way into it. I'm not even a popsicle guy and these things blow me away.

Then, for the lover of chocolate, Korea features the Crunky Bar. No, my friends, that is no typo, the Crunky Bar. Do I mean Crunchy Bar? No. Am I trying to say Chunky Bar? Sorry. It's the Crunky Bar, and it gets you Crunked (that's not it's tag line but it really, really should be). Perhaps for copyright purposes, it has avoided using an English actual word, but when you eat it, you understand. One of my students put it best when he said "Crunky is the sound it makes when you bite into it." It's kinda halfway between a Kid Kat and a Snickers, it's surprisingly light, with a touch of honey. I think it would do good things in the American market.

But perhaps the pinnacle of Korean junk food is something that, once I say it, you're going to smack your head and say "why don't we have that?" Ready?

Chocolate-Covered Sun Flower Seeds.

Oh yeah, they're real and they're spectacular. I don't know who came up with the idea, I just know I'm very, very impressed.     

(As a side note, Korea is not the only Asian country to rock when it comes to candy. Japan is nutso for Kid Kats. In Japan, Kid Kats come in over 80 flavors. Yes, they have that many different types of Kid Kats, featuring some great ideas like "Kiwifruit," to more controversial flavors like "Wine." For a full listing, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kit_Kat)

It's for these reasons I just loves the Korean people. But not everyone has love for Koreans. Racism exists, dear friends, whether we like it or not. Perhaps you have come across the term "gook," the ethnic slur used against the Korean people. Nowadays, it's more of a relic than anything. No one under the age of fifty really uses this word too much anymore, unless they're really dead-set on bigotry. But I bring up the word because, while controversial, it has an interesting origin. During the Korean War, Korean soldiers often asked foreign soldiers if they were from America. The simplest way to ask this in Korean is to just point and say, "America?" But, given the obscurity of the Korean language, Americans soldiers didn't gather this and thought the Korean soldiers were trying to speak English. Incidentally, the word for "America" in Korean is "mi-guk" or, as the Americans must have heard it: "me gook" as in "I am a gook." And from there it took off in all sorts of bad directions.

But these misunderstandings are not just a thing of the past. Sometimes the language barrier is a more than just confusing. Sometimes, it's dangerous. For instance, my students are not antisemitic. For the record, I doubt they've ever even met a Jewish person. But, every kid has been to the zoo (stay with me, here) so, in class, I sometimes ask questions like, "do you have fun at the zoo?" But, like many other English sounds, the "z" sound does not exist in the Korean tongue. So, what's the closest sound to a "z"? Here, take a second. No really, think about it. I'll wait...

What'd you come up with? If you answered "j,"  you are correct. So what? Well, think about this. If a kid had a monkey fling poo at him the first time he visited the zoo, he probably wouldn't be digging the zoo all that much. In fact, he might say something as simple as "I don't like the zoo." But, throw in your "j" sound where the "z" sound is in that statement and, oh baby, that sounds like something out of Germany in the 30's. I work with them on their "z" sounds a lot.


And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a story to tell. Let me set the stage for you. Friday night, in my kumdo (sword fighting) gym, my foot is healed, and it is the night of my initiation into the Kumdo Brotherhood.

Our hero (yours truly), walks into the gym. It's a cold night, bitter, freezing, but there is a fire inside his belly. Tonight, he has something to prove.

It is his first time suiting up for battle. His hogu (kumdo armor) lays before him. It is the night of his initiation, the christening of his hogu. This is a great honor, reserved for the warriors who have gnashed through blood and broken bones and really bad soju hangovers to come out the other side, fierce and fearless.

The rules of the initiation are simple. One must battle through every one of his kumdo brothers in attendance at the gym that night, without rest. To describe his initiation, my kumdo brother Alex had used the phrase "chook-a-say-oh" which translates to "stick a fork in me." Most people have to face about seven opponents in a row during their initiation. Alex faced ten. Of course, because everyone wants a crack at the white guy, fourteen warriors arrive that night to face our hero.

Sword in hand, suited up, the lanky white protagonist holds his blade out in front of him. There, after bowing to his brothers, he faces them, one by one. He thrashes through, taking his opponent's fearsome blows but shelling them back with a barrage of sword missiles (I know, I know, these metaphors are getting worse and worse). Though his arms begin to feel like lead and his head like a ringing bell, the look in his brothers' faces say "don't give up," and so our hero battles on.

I don't have a photograph of the actual fighting, but I drew this picture, and I think it does it justice.

After facing the lineup of his bladed brothers, our hero breathes a sigh of relief, as he thinks he is finished. This is not the case. His master approaches him. There is one more opponent and he is the deadliest in the room.  The exhausted American looks fearfully at the man before him. This is a man who, as a soldier, was a member of the Korean equivalent to the Navy Seals and who has been training with a sword for the last twenty years. Though small in stature, our hero still knows the might of his master.

The master's assault is punishing. Bamboo blows rain down on the fatigued whitey. But now is not the time for surrender, he tells himself, not on number fourteen. He has come too far. A second wind fills our hero's soul, and there, he dances the dance of the sword with his master, until he can stand no longer.


His master bows to him, and then seats him at the front of the room. There, his brothers pay homage to him, and congratulate him. He is now in the family of the sword. They meditate together. They shake hands. And then, in his greatest moment our hero takes them all out and pays for them to gets them absolutely sloshed on beer and soju, while they eat pizza and chicken and talk about hot Korean chicks.

Honestly though, people, the ceremony was incredibly moving. This gym truly does feel like a family of my brothers and sisters. And though I do not speak the same language, it matters so little. We communicate when we fight, when we slap each other on the back, and when we whip each other in the ass with towels in the shower after we finish and then go out boozing. They're awesome. And honestly, do you see those two little girls in the front of the picture? My friend called them "angels with swords." And they are cuter than a puppy sitting in cake wearing a birthday hat.

   

Lastly, I want to tell you all, I found a sandwich place. Yes, a real sandwich place. No weird kimchi or strange sauces or corn in my bread. No. Just a real club sandwich. On good bread. Thick bacon. Juicy tomato. Perfect amount of mayo. Good steak fries. Real pickles. I didn't say a damn word while I was eating it. And I didn't listen to a word anyone else said. It was magical.

But that's all for today, my fellow warriors. Now I must retire, to meditate and eat more sandwiches. I miss and love you all.

-Your Hero