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
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